


It Happened One Christmas

by SnowboundMermaid



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 07 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowboundMermaid/pseuds/SnowboundMermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Season Seven AU - One cancelled flight, one early arrival and a Christmas blizzard all conspire to turn Barney and Robin's airport encounter into a second chance at the love of a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own HIMYM or anything vaguely related to it. This is only my own what-if imagining.

December 23rd, 2013

"No, Mom, I'm not making this up."

Barney's ears pricked at the sound of Robin's voice. He'd know that voice anywhere, even in a crowded airport terminal. He gestured for Ranjit, pushing the luggage cart, to stop, and turned in the direction of the sound. Robin Sherbatsky leaned against a nearby wall, head tipped back against a green and yellow Tantrum advertisement, eyes closed and one booted foot planted squarely atop her wheeled suitcase. She wasn't okay.

"Why would I make up a blizzard? There are no flights." She drew her hair over her shoulder and wound the ends around her fingers. She hadn't worn it that long in years. He liked it. "All outgoing flights are grounded. I'm not going to make it."

"We should keep going." Ranjit's voice sounded as though it came from miles away. "It is really coming down out there. Winter wonderland from hell."

Barney ran a hand over his jaw. The bristles of a day's travel rubbed against his palm. "In a minute." He couldn't leave without at least saying hello. Without trying to help.

Robin lowered her phone and dropped it into the leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She didn't move after that, only dashed the back of her hand over her eyes and dragged her suitcase flush against the wall.

He strode toward her. "Well, well, well, Robin Sherbatsky, we meet again. Or," he asked, when her eyes flew open and her head turned in his direction, "are you using Mosby socially now? It's weird that I don't know that."

Robin held up a naked left hand for his inspection. "All Sherbatsky all the time."

Barney instantly sobered. His muscles tensed. He had to blink to chase away the image of the princess cut diamond he'd helped Ted pick out in what seemed like another life. She'd been wearing that ring the last time he saw her. She'd been flying to Chicago that time, not out of it, with Ted, who'd promised to take care of her. That was what, a year and a half now? Too long. She wasn't okay. "I'm sorry. What happened? You don't have to say if you don't want."

Robin's shrug sent the tail of her white knitted scarf trailing over the red wool of her coat. Canada colors. They suited her. "What always happens with me and Ted? I'm me, and Ted is Ted. We're better off as friends. For real this time."

Panic flared in his gut. "Hey. You can't give up that easily. Ted loves you." The words caused a physical pain in his gut, burned their way through his throat, onto his tongue, but he couldn't hold them back.

Robin moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and held him with a level gaze. "He does, but not the way he loves Tracy."

The sound of the unfamiliar name rattled him. "Who's Tracy?"

"Ted met a girl in Chicago." She paused for only a moment, as though she knew he'd need time to process the information. "We were on a train platform. It was raining. Ted saw a girl with a yellow umbrella. He said it would be funny if that was his yellow umbrella, so I said he should go find out. He did. It was. She was Cindy's roommate. Ted's perfect girl."

No, Barney wanted to tell her. That couldn't have been Ted's perfect girl on the train platform because I'm looking at the perfect girl right now. He rubbed the back of his neck. Lame. That sounded like the end of some cheesy Christmas movie. Ted could have said those words, and Robin didn't need Ted-speak from him. He didn't know what she needed. "Wow. I don't even know what to say to that."

That seemed to do the trick. "Seriously. I watched Ted fall in love on that platform. Not the way he usually does; this time is different. It's real, and it only took a matter of minutes. Within a week, I knew I had to do the right thing. I gave Ted his ring back and I moved out."

"Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Always keep the ring."

Only one corner of her mouth lifted, but he'd take that. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He waved a hand in dismissal. "What next time? What are the odds that there are three guys on this planet dumb enough to let you get away? Four, counting me. Do the math. Next one'll stick. I promise."

She raised herself on tiptoe and peered past him. "Better not let Quinn hear you talk like that."

"Why would Quinn care?" Then it hit him. Robin didn't know. Nobody told her. Now it was his turn to show a bare left hand. "Quinn and I broke up. There was no wedding."

Robin rested a hand on his sleeve. Her brows knit with concern. "Are you okay?"

Barney scoffed. "Please. Never better. I dodged a bullet on that one. Woman be crazy." He looped a finger next to his ear and forced a smile.

Robin's phone rang before she could respond. "It's my mom." She flicked her hair behind her shoulder and put the phone to her ear. "Hi, Mom. Yes, the snow is getting heavier. Yes, all the flights are cancelled. No, I cannot pull strings and get a special flight out. I don't control the weather. I don't know when there will be more flights. It might not be until Boxing Day. I'll get a hotel or something." She and kneaded at her forehead with her free hand. "I don't know. Somewhere."

Barney didn't need to hear Genevieve's side of the conversation. Robin's voice, more weary with every answer filled it in for him. "No. No hotel." Barney pointed to himself with both index fingers, his motions broad.

"Mom? Can you hold for a minute? There's a crazy person here. He may need medical attention." She weighted those last words and fixed Barney with a piercing stare as she lowered her phone. "What?"

"Stay with me."

Robin shook her head. "I can't."

"No, you have to." He gestured to the plate glass windows that allowed a view of the runway. "Look at it out there. All flights are cancelled. By the time you get out of the airport, the only hotels with any rooms left will be those that charge by the hour and change sheets upon request."

Robin tilted her head and gifted him with a saucy curve of her lips. "Oh, so your favorite places?" She slid both hands into her pocket, her posture relaxed.

Barney lay one hand over his heart. "Touché. I'm serious. I have the room and I literally do not have any plans for Christmas."

"Right."

"I'm serious. Marshall and Lily took Marvin to Minnesota. My mom and Sam are getting pretty serious; she and James and Tom and the kids are with his family. Quinn and I were going to spend the holiday with her family, which she is doing, asshole ex-fiance not invited. I'd planned on working through the holiday, but I finished early. Please. You'd be doing me a favor."

Lines formed about her mouth, a sure sign of deep thought.

"If you don't come home with me, all I'm going to do is sit around in sweatpants and watch bad Christmas movies on the giant screen. What else are you going to do?"

Robin's lower lip protruded by the slightest degree. "I don't know. Ted took Tracy to meet her parents in New Jersey. They said I was welcome to come, but that would be weird. I guess I'm just stuck."

"Stuck in the most awesome city in the world. We can turn this snowpocalpyse into a bropocalypse. It can be our Christmas gift to each other."

"Convenient, because I didn't get you anything, but how are we even going to get to your apartment? If all the hotel rooms are already taken, then all the cabs have to be taken, too. You're as stuck as I am. Best we can do is stake out a table in the food court and wait for the storm to break."

"No, I am not stuck, and I don't need a cab. Ranjit?"

"Hello!" Ranjit's greeting chased all the tension from Robin's face. She put the phone back to her ear. "Mom? I have to go. I found a lead on a place to stay. She threw her arms around Ranjit. "It's good to see you."

Ranjit responded with a single pat to Robin's back. "Good to see you, too."

Barney bristled with affront he only half-pretended. "Ranjit gets a hug and I don't? You wound me again, Sherbatsky." He pounded a fist over his heart. "Right here. Do you want me to bleed out here in the terminal?"

There it was at last, the full on Sherbatsky smile he'd been angling for the whole time, complete with eye roll and twitch of her lips. "Nah, wouldn't be fair to the custodial staff. Come here." Robin spread her arms wide and beckoned him into her embrace. She clutched him like a drowning woman would a life raft, fingers digging into him through wool and cotton. "I missed you," she whispered, her breath warm on his ear. He didn't imagine the dampness against his neck.

She felt good in his arms. Too good, soft and warm. She fit like she'd been made for him to hold. "Missed you, too." His lips brushed her hair, his head resting against hers for a fraction of a second. He didn't want to let go, but somebody had to. He'd let go when she left for Chicago. He could do it again now. He stepped back. "What do you say, spend Christmas with me?"

Robin pulled her suitcase away from the wall and surrendered it to Ranjit. "Only until I can get a flight out."

"Duly noted."

She didn't protest when he rested a hand in the small of her back.


	2. Chapter 2

All Robin needed to make the ride back to Barney's apartment complete was a literal ghost of boyfriends past. She hadn't expected to see him again, let alone be in the back of a town car with him, her hand resting inches away from his, very much free of the wedding band she'd expected to see there. That was the reason she'd left New York for Chicago in the first place. Barney was going to marry Quinn, so Robin would move out of state and marry Ted. She and Barney would lead separate lives. It would be a clean break. That was the plan. That was the deal. That's the way it had to be.

Barney and Quinn would have a dozen blond, hyperactive babies and send out Christmas cards every year with everybody dressed in matching Fair Isle sweaters, mugging for the camera and sporting novelty Santa hats. Not that Robin had ever expected to be receiving any of those cards, but she'd lined them up on the imaginary mantle of the house she and Ted would have shared anyway. She and Ted would…at the moment, she couldn't remember. The whole thing was moot anyway.

Ranjit rode up in the elevator them, to unload the suitcases. He was first through the door when Barney unlocked it and pushed the luggage cart inside. "Where should I put Robin's bags?"

Barney took Robin's coat and hung it with his own in the closet. "Put everything in the bedroom." He turned to Robin and closed the door. "My housekeeper came this morning, so the sheets are fresh. You take the bed. I can sleep on the couch."

Going into Barney's bedroom was dangerous for any woman, let alone one who knew all too well what that room had seen. Especially her. Especially now. Robin shook her head and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. "I can't ask you to sleep on the couch. You just spent fourteen hours on a plane. It's your apartment. I'm the one crashing. I'll take the couch."

Barney's features set firm with determination. "I cannot in all good conscience let you do that. I am sleeping on the couch, and I will be fine. It folds out."

Robin crossed her arms. "You're forgetting I know this apartment. Your couch does not fold out."

"This one does." He took off the seat cushions and leaned them against the wall, then moved back the coffee table. Sure enough, the metal framework and folded springs came into view. "The old couch caught fire while Quinn and I were having one of our more heated disagreements. This mattress and I are old friends. I think I slept here more often than the bed for the last couple of months of the engagement."

"So you want me to sleep in the bed you shared with Quinn?" No matter that she'd slept, and, more importantly, not-slept in the bed he'd shared with half of New York. The skin on the backs of her legs itched.

Barney unfolded the mattress and locked the legs in place. "No, that mattress had an accident with a kitchen knife. Actually, the whole set. The police report said thirty seven different slashes. I stopped counting after five."

Robin's mouth went slack. "Did Quinn hurt you?" She stared at Barney as though she could see through his clothes to any lingering scars. She couldn't see anything on his face or hands, but the rest of him remained in question.

He looked away, then back at her. "More fiscally than physically, but that was a pretty clear sign that things weren't going to work out between us. Long story short, that's a new mattress in there, too. You're the first girl I've brought back here since it was delivered. Not that I brought you back here for that. We're friends, right?"

Robin pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and chafed her forearms to keep her hands busy. "Right. Friends. Totally platonic."

He nodded, as though that was all the answer he needed. "Good. Take the bed. I insist."

She didn't have it in her to argue any further. "Fine. Will you at least let me make up the couch for you?"

He smoothed out the mattress without looking up. "My apartment, remember?"

"I know." There really wasn't anything at all of Quinn in this apartment anymore, but it's not exactly the way it used to be, either. Walls and furniture still blended into one continuous wash of gray. The storm trooper still stood sentinel by the sliding glass doors to the balcony. She picked out the small differences; a bright red coffeemaker on the kitchen counter, new bookcase, a snake plant in what looked like an old bucket opposite the storm trooper. Barney Stinson with a houseplant; post-Quinn Barney was…interesting. She ran a finger along the edge of the metal gym basket that held a stack of magazines next to the couch. She'd missed New York.

Ranjit emerged from the bedroom, his cart empty. "Will there be anything else?"

Barney peeled off a couple of bills from his wallet and handed them to Ranjit. "No, we're good. Get home safe and enjoy those grandkids."

Ranjit held up two fingers and beamed at Robin. "Two new ones since you have been gone."

"Congratulations." She couldn't say anything else. It shouldn't bother her this much, finding out their sometime chauffer had new grandchildren she didn't know about, but it did. The knowledge that it bothered her bothered her even more. "You must be very proud."

"Very proud," Ranjit echoed. He counted the bills Barney handed him and tucked them in his breast pocket. "Thank you, and Merry Christmas." One slight bow –a bow- and he steered his cart through the door Barney opened for him. The door shut.

Robin's stomach fluttered. Ranjit had left her alone with Barney. Barney's muscles flexed as he shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over the back of the nearest chair. He loosened his tie, took off his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. The skin there was fair, lightly furred, unmarred. He looked tired and rumpled there in the light from the overhead fixture, and very very touchable. "So, sweatpants, huh?"

"Armani," he answered, and pocketed his cufflinks. "Hungry?"

Robin glanced past snake plant and stormtrooper to the swirling wall of white outside. "Nothing's going to be open out there." But there would be. This was New York. Something was open, and he'd go out into that mess if she asked him to, even if she hinted that she might possibly want that at some point.

Barney reclaimed his jacket and draped it over one arm. "Doesn't have to be." He crossed to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

She had to look twice to make sure the contents weren't a mirage. Not only was the refrigerator stocked, but with actual food. Milk, juice, eggs, butter, produce, condiments, not a takeout container in sight. If it weren't for the beer on the bottom shelf, she would have sworn she was looking into the wrong refrigerator. "Who are you?"

He flashed a bashful grin, teeth all the whiter for the shadow of whiskers about his mouth and jaw. "It's just me here. No bimbos to send on their way. Might as well actually have all the comforts of home if I'm the only one in it. I could make you something."

Robin pinched the inside of her wrist. Nope, definitely awake. "You cook now?"

Barney shrugged and opened the crisper. He peered inside, then closed it again. "Figured I might as well learn how to feed myself, especially since I'm going to be on my own for a while."

"Not getting back up on that horse? I find that hard to believe."

Barney surveyed the contents of the refrigerator. Lifted the lids on plastic containers. Counted eggs. Turned bottles in the door label side out. "Single life has its benefits. I'm taking a breather from the dating game for a while. Need to get my footing again. Figure out who I am before I add anybody else into the mix. What about you? Back out there yet, or too soon still?"

Robin let out a breath that ruffled her bangs. Her shoulders twitched. "Men are stupid. You know me. I'm all about work."

Even with his back to her, she could imagine the knowing smile those words would bring. "Classic Sherbatsky. Any dietary restrictions I should know about?" Pristine white cotton bunched and smoothed across his back with every movement.

"Nope. I'll eat anything. You really don't have to cook for me. You're already letting me stay here. Let me cook for you." She had no idea where that had come from, but she'd said it.

Barney straightened and glanced back over his shoulder. "You can't cook. Can you?"

Robin bristled. "I can make Kraft dinner."

He laughed, closed the refrigerator and, two steps later, took a familiar blue box from the pantry. "Okay. Do you mind if I grab a quick shower while you cook?" He held up a hand to stop her answer before it could come. "Do not tell me it's my apartment. I've been in these clothes for," his gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, "almost exactly twenty three hours."

Robin cocked her head and pretended to consider. "Hmm, you do smell like airport."

"So do you." The retort came quick, instinctive, but smile lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, but I only smell like domestic airport. You smell like international airport."

Barney planted both hands on his hips. His jaw thrust forward. "You mean I smell like first class. You smell like Chicago. The stench of deep dish pizza transcends even airport smell. It's in your hair and everything. Maybe you should shower first, and do not fight me on this; I am getting you a real pizza tomorrow. Never forget where you come from."

"They have real pizza in Chicago." Robin bit down on her lower lip to stave off a laugh. If she laughed, he'd laugh, and this dance of words would be over. She wasn't ready for that. "And I come from Canada."

Barney's brows flashed upward. "Did I not say not to fight me on this? One, deep dish pizza is not pizza. You can't fold it. They have casseroles in Chicago, not pizza, and two, you are a naturalized New Yorker. New York outranks Canada." His chin lifted. "I know it's a big inconvenience, and I'm sorry you don't get to spend Christmas with your family, but I'm glad your flight got grounded. You can shower first."

"I'm glad my flight was grounded, too," she said, and she was. They'd fallen back into the rhythm of her and him, the way it used to be, before Quinn, before Nora, before Kevin and Ted. Well, between Ted. Teds? The easy banter they'd always had let her believe that maybe she could salvage some semblance of normal out of the chaos her life had become. "Go shower. I can't shower first because I'm making dinner." She worked a nail under the flap of the box and pried it open. "See? I've already started."

Barney's slow smile spread by millimeters from his mouth to his eyes. "Well, if you've already started, what choice do I have?" His fingers worked at the loosened knot of his tie.

Robin tracked the motion, mesmerized by the intimacy and precision of his movements. Any man could take off a tie, but Barney turned it into an art. He'd go for the button at his throat next, pause there for a moment before he took care of the others. Her lips parted. She leaned forward. Crap. He'd seen her. She turned the box over. "Just checking the directions. In case they're different from the Canadian ones. Nope, same. Go shower."

He lifted one brow but made no further comment. "Things are where things usually are. Make yourself at home." He disappeared down the hallway after that. The bedroom door closed behind him. A minute later, she heard the shower start.

The image of naked Barney rose in her memory. Naked, wet Barney. A bolt of desire shot through her. The box dropped from her hand. Elbow macaroni scattered over the dark surface of the counter. Damn it, she didn't need this.


	3. Chapter 3

Barney closed the bathroom door and shoved both hands through his hair, hard, as though he could mush the events of the last hour into some semblance of order. It didn't work. Robin Scherbatsky-not-Mosby was in his kitchen, making macaroni and cheese. Sixty minutes ago, he'd thought she was engaged to Ted, who was supposed to be taking care of her, but she wasn't. Ted wasn't taking care of Robin anymore because Ted was in New Jersey, meeting Yellow Umbrella Girl's parents. Tracy. Yellow Umbrella Girl was named Tracy. He tapped his fist against his mouth. This sucked.

He stuffed down the urge to bellow every curse he knew and shatter the glass of the shower stall. Robin would hear, if he did that. She'd come in and he'd have to explain, and he couldn't. Shower. He came in here to shower. Robin would expect to hear the shower running. He yanked open the door to the shower stall and turned on the water, then braced both hands against the sink. "Fuck." The word burst from his mouth. That helped, some. Not enough. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face.

There was no chance at all, he told himself, of this face getting anywhere near Robin's face tonight. He was dehydrated from the pressurized air of the cabin, looked like he had a baby hedgehog sleeping on his chin, and the bags under his eyes were big enough to count as carryon luggage. "That is not going to happen, so get it out of your head right now." He stared down his reflection to make sure that fact sank in. Up until an hour ago, she'd thought he was married to Quinn. She wasn't looking for any action from him tonight, and she'd be gone as soon as the first flight to Vancouver was cleared for takeoff. Robin might be sleeping in his bed tonight, but she wouldn't be sleeping with him. She'd picked Kevin over him. She'd picked Ted over him. Then Ted picked Tracy over her, and Barney could have gone his entire life without knowing that, if it weren't for the damned snowstorm that grounded Robin's plane.

"Fuck!" Barney swept one arm across the entire expanse of the counter. Jars and bottles scattered over the tiled floor. The scents of mint and sandalwood assaulted him, released all at once from the impact, too strong. He braced himself against the edge of the sink, in case Robin had heard him. In case she came in. She might. She could. Water pounded against the glass and tile of the shower stall, in counterpoint to his racing pulse. Shower. He'd come in here to take a shower. That's what Robin would expect to see if she did investigate.

He worked at the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers. She loves me, she loves me not, over and over until he peeled the rumpled cotton from his body on a final she loves me. She didn't. She couldn't. He should know that by now, accept it. He couldn't. He wadded the fabric into a ball and hurled it across the room. It landed in a pool of spilled aftershave. He shed the rest of his clothes and positioned himself under the spray.

Robin and Ted weren't married. They weren't engaged. They weren't even together. Ted was in love with somebody else. Robin was on the other side of this wall, making macaroni and cheese. The thoughts circled his mind like planes at the airport. They wouldn't land, only melded together into one bigger thought; there was no reason at all for Robin not to be a part of his life. They were both as single as it was possible to be. Robin was happy for Ted, and if Ted was with Tracy, that had to mean he was over Robin, for real this time. Hell, there was no reason Barney couldn't have them both back in his life. If he still believed in Christmas wishes, that would be his. His girl. His bro. He wouldn't need anything else, but he didn't believe in wishes, Christmas or otherwise. Not anymore. Even when they did come true, they didn't last, and that was worse than when they didn't come true at all.

He went through the rest of the motions by rote: soap, water, towel, razor, toothbrush, mouthwash, spit, wipe sink. Cleaning up the mess came next. He picked up the things that weren't broken and put them back in their usual spots, then gathered every piece of broken glass. Went over the area twice to make sure he hadn't left anything behind. Soaked up the spilled aftershave with his shirt and stuffed it in the hamper. Robin didn't have to know about this, if he was careful. He could be careful. He would be. For her.

For now, he had the rituals of coming home to perform before he joined Robin again. Open the suitcase, put dirty clothes in the proper hampers, clean clothes back in the closet, trash in the trashcan. Check phone. He scrolled past texts from James and their mother, then a picture of Marshall and Marvin in matching Santa hats, before he navigated to his list of contacts. Ted was still listed under emergency contacts.

He could call Ted. Probably should. He hadn't meant for the two of them to drift apart. They were going to give it some time, make sure Robin got settled okay, then sometime after the wedding, after the weddings –- Barney's thumb slipped. Calling Ted flashed across his screen.

"No. No calling Ted. Do not call Ted. Stop calling Ted." Barney jabbed every button on the screen in an attempt to abort the call. Too late. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tight. This couldn't be happening. If there were such things as miracles, he could use one about now. Just a small one. Please.

The ringtone gave way to a voice Barney hadn't heard in a year and a half. "Hi, you've reached Ted Mosby at Hammond Druthers and Associates."

Barney hauled in a deep breath and scratched behind his ear. "Hey, Ted, It's Barney. Can we, um,-"

"I can't take your call right now, but leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Happy Holidays."

Voicemail. Barney's head tilted back from sheer relief as the call went to voicemail. Maybe there were a few miracles left, after all. "Hey, Ted, it's Barney. Um, Merry Christmas." Good start, now what? "It's dumb that we don't talk anymore. Call me back when you get this." He ended the call before he could say anything else and stuck his phone in the charger, then took sweatpants and t-shirt from the bottom drawer.

One quick check in the mirror before he opened the door. His hair was still wet; Robin wouldn't mind that. It would look like he was trying too hard if he did anything to it, so he left it alone. He'd cut himself on the left hinge of his jaw, only a small nick, not even bleeding anymore. The Lusty Leopard logo on the t-shirt gave him pause. He whipped the shirt over his head, crumpled it into a ball and aimed it at the wastebasket. Next to the wastebasket. Whatever. He grabbed a plain gray t-shirt instead and dropped that over his head before he picked up the discarded shirt and shoved it to the bottom of the trash. Second check on the hair. Okay. Fine. That would do. Cross to door. Hand on knob. Turn. Left foot. Right foot. All the way down the hall and around the corner. He stopped short at the sight of her.

If Barney could take only one image to the grave with him, it would be this. Robin Sherbatsky-not-Mosby, in his kitchen, making macaroni and cheese. Making macaroni and cheese for him. He couldn't place the tune Robin half-hummed, half-sang as she stirred the contents of the single pot on the stove. Something Christmassy, from the few words he could catch. Christmas. Snow. Fireplace. Moose. Make that Canadian Christmassy. Chances were there was some ill-advised Robin Sparkles Christmas special, filmed but never aired. The only surviving copy was probably holding up the short leg of some producer's assistant's desk. He'd search for it, of course, later. If it existed, he'd find it, but for now, the live show was more than enough.

She had her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. The gray pinstriped apron he kept in the pantry protected her fuzzy white sweater. Her stocking feet shifted in time to the music, as though the song had a dance that went with it. Now he was sure; there was a Robin Sparkles Christmas something somewhere out there. She didn't know he was there. She'd stop if she did.

The scents of butter, milk, and artificial cheese carried on the vapor that carried from the kitchen area. Two plain white bowls waited on the counter by the stove. Two place settings rested on the table, along with two bottles of beer. No glasses. That was his cue. "Good choice on the beer."

She turned at the sound of his voice. "Look at you." Her mouth curved in appreciation as she inclined her head and looked him up and down.

"I did promise you sweatpants. I left fresh towels in the bathroom for you. If you want to shower before we eat, I can keep things warm for you."

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. "As appealing as that sounds, you're going to have to deal with the Chicago stink. I'm starving. Any chance of one of those Christmas movies afterward?" She paused there, to dump half the pot into each bowl. "You probably want to go right to sleep, though, and here I am, demanding you play host. Forget I said anything."

Barney took both bowls from the counter and carried them to the table. "I'm the one who asked you to stay with me. You're not demanding anything I don't want to give. I did just spend fourteen hours in a plane. My body doesn't have any idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Dinner and a movie it is." He raked one hand through his still-damp hair, then smoothed it back down before it dried that way. "God, that sounds like a date. You know what I meant."

"I know," she said and shoved her fork into her food. "So, you were planning on working over Christmas?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Yeah." Barney shoved a fork into the mound of macaroni in his bowl. "I figured working was better than being Broken Engagement Guy at somebody else's celebration. Especially if what I think is going to happen with Sam and my mom is going to happen." He dragged his fork around the rim of the bowl, eyes downcast. "How awkward would that be? I'd be the only single person over the age of nine if I went with Marshall and Lily. Easy to spot the pity guest there. You and Ted were-" The line of his mouth flattened. "Nobody gets offended if I say I have to work, and volunteering to go to Beijing makes me the office hero for the guys who actually have families."

You have a family. The words crowded Robin's tongue, but her mouth was full. You could have come to Vancouver. He'd have complained about having to spend Christmas in Canada the whole flight over, but then he wouldn't want to leave. Her mother would have introduced him to everybody as 'Robin's special young man.' It would have been easier to play along than correct her, and who knows where that would have led? It wouldn't have been lying. 'Special young man' didn't mean boyfriend, not necessarily. She chased her food with a swallow of beer. "You gave up three free days in Beijing to come home to an empty apartment?"

Barney shrugged. "I wanted to be home. Enough about me. I'm boring. I work for a bank. What are you doing? Making Oprah nervous yet? I bet you're taking Chicago by storm."

Robin's shoulders drooped. "More like by drizzle. There weren't any open anchor slots, so I'm back on the morning talk show circuit. Wake Up, Chicago, this time, which is exactly as lame as it sounds. On the one hand, it airs at nine, so people actually are watching, but on the other hand, my boss is Don." She paused there, to watch that bit of information sink in.

Barney sucked air through his teeth. "Ouch. Is that awkward?"

"We're both professionals. We deal with it."

Barney tried to mask his smile by taking a swig of his beer. It didn't work. A wicked mischief glinted in his eyes. She knew that look.

"What?"

He lowered the bottle. "I'm picturing the two of you in a meeting. Don's being all Don and trying to pretend he doesn't remember what you look like naked, very studiously not looking anywhere near your boobs. Then there's you, not looking at him at all, because you really are there to do the job and wishing he'd grow up already. Don's thinking about you, trust me."

Robin's nose wrinkled. Barney might as well have been in every meeting they'd ever had. "Well, I'm not thinking about him. Except about what a jerk he was. Is. Why do you think Don is thinking about me?"

"Because that's how it works. What has been seen cannot be unseen. I think about you."

She held up a hand to stop him from going any farther with that. "Whoa. What happens in you shower is your business."

Red flooded his cheeks. "Not like that. Well, not always like that. Do you know what movie you want to see?"

Change of subject, that was good. "As a matter of fact, I do. It's a beloved Christmas classic."

"Die Hard?"

She almost told him yes. Almost. "I am not telling you the title until after I shower, but it starts and ends in an airport, and Alan Rickman plays a pivotal role." She lay her fork in her now empty bowl and pushed back from the table.

Barney pumped his fist and pushed back his own chair. "Die Hard. Yes. See, this is why you are the perfect Christmas guest. I should have you here every year. Just for that, I am breaking out the good ice cream, and you get another beer. After you wash the Chicago off you, that is." He collected the dishes and carried them to the sink. "Only so much a man can take on that front, even from you."

Robin stuck out her tongue, then headed for the bathroom, well aware that his gaze settled on her as she went. Oh yes, he deserved this, dropping that bit about him thinking about her. Watching her walk away. Standing there over the sink in his stupid t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair drying all fluffy like a baby chick. Like a sexy baby chick.

She strolled back into the living room half an hour later, in leggings and oversized t-shirt, no makeup and wet hair wrapped in a towel. She smelled like him, which she found oddly unsettling, but a natural outcome of using his shower, his soap, his towels. Even two spritzes of the perfume she'd tucked in her carryon didn't diffuse the eau de Barney that wafted around her with every step. If he called her on it, she'd punch him.

He didn't, only greeted her with a lift of his chin as he set down two more bottles of beer and a pint of pumpkin pie ice cream with two spoons protruding from it. "NetView password is still the same, so cue up the movie whenever." He flopped down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.

"Thank you, I will." She took her place beside him and picked up the remote. If she were going to take pity on him, this was her chance. She cued the movie.

Barney's anguished outcry echoed off the walls. "No! That is not Die Hard. You promised Die Hard. You lied."

Totally worth it. "Technically, I did not lie. Love Actually is a beloved Christmas classic that begins and ends in an airport, and Alan Rickman does play a pivotal role."

"Okay, you got me there, and I will allow it only because you are the guest. I get to pick the next movie, and it will not have Hugh Grant in it." Barney draped a gray fleece blanket, over the two of them and offered Robin first crack at the ice cream.

She nestled into the pile of blankets after her first bite of ice cream and woke halfway through the movie with her head pillowed on Barney's chest, the towel a damp gray lump on her lap. He stirred a moment after she did, one lock of her hair pinched between two of his fingers. He drew his hand back. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She blinked at the hair where he'd held it then angled herself toward the lamp on the end table. Nope, no mistake. The last few inches were braided. "Did you do this?" .

Barney stretched and stifled a yawn. "Do what?"

Robin waved the braid at him.

"Huh? Oh, that. Probably."

She let the braid drop. "Since when do you know how to braid?"

"Since my mom saw the movie 10 and taught James and me how to braid. There was a Dominican lady on the next block who did it professionally, but smaller fingers make smaller braids, and we worked cheap. If we did her hair, we got to watch extra TV. What, you don't believe me?"

Robin bit back a laugh. She could imagine the scene all too well, Loretta taking advantage of child labor, under the guise of family bonding and saving a buck. "Prove it."

"Challenge accepted." Barney paused the movie in the middle of a scene with the body doubles. A naked one. "I'm going to need a comb and hair ties."

She peeled back the blanket and retrieved a comb and two hair ties from her purse, then resumed her place on the couch. "Only two." He took the items she offered and turned her for better access before he combed through her hair, starting from the bottom and working his way up by inches. Loretta Stinson, she decided, was one hell of a teacher. Her eyes drifted closed for only a moment.

Not only a moment. Damn. Robin lay perfectly still while she took inventory. Morning, Barney's couch, head on Barney's shoulder, Barney's arm flung over her midsection. To the best of her knowledge, they were both still wearing everything they'd worn when the movie started. She counted only two beers, mostly full, on the coffee table, and one pint of ice cream surrounded by a puddle of goo. Okay, not disastrous, except for the finish on his coffee table.

She knew now the real reason Barney always shooed his conquests out at first light. Early morning Barney was a potent drug. A girl couldn't have only one taste; she'd need more. She needed more. He looked vulnerable, eyes closed, blanket pulled up to his chin. Only a little scruff there, taunting her to stroke it. She settled instead for a light touch on his fluffy baby-chick hair. "Barney?"

He aimed an ineffectual swat at her hand. "Ungh."

"Time to get up."

"No." He burrowed deeper into the couch. The motion tugged on her scalp.

"You're on my hair."

That did it. "Hm? What? Oh. Sorry. Did it hurt?"

"Only when you rolled on it." Robin smoothed the braid over her shoulder and examined his work. "Nicely done. How do you remember that from thirty years ago?"

"Please." Barney unfolded himself from the couch and stretched. "I remember it from last week. I have a niece. Besides, some things, you never forget."

Robin pried herself from the pillows and headed for the curtains that covered the sliding glass doors to the balcony. "Guess not." She pulled them aside. "Holy crap, that's a lot of snow." Still coming down, too. No chance at all of a flight getting out today. "Can I turn on the news?"

"Go ahead. Coffee?"

She nodded and turned on the giant screen. WWN came up automatically. Some fresh faced cub reporter, bundled in puffer coat and watch cap, scarf wound up to his chin, stood in front of an army of snowplows and squinted against the deluge of white. She didn't envy him, but if she had to pick, right then, between his job and Wake Up, Chicago, she wouldn't need time to think. The crawler at the bottom of the screen showed an endless stream of cancellations and postponements. She clicked the TV back. "Guess we have another day together."

Barney took two mugs from the overhead cabinet and set them next to the coffeemaker. "Two. You wouldn't leave me all alone on Christmas day, would you? Article 25 of the Bro Code states that no bro will abandon another bro on a major holiday."

"Major Holi-" Robin broke off there. Her hand dropped from its salute.

"Would it help if I saluted with you?"

Robin shook her head. "Thanks, but no. That's a Ted thing."

"Do you miss Ted?"

"No. I'm happy for him. We're still friends, and I like Tracy. We'll work out the new normal. We always do."

The scent of dark roast coffee rose from the bag Barney opened. "Like you and me, right?"

"There's nothing like you and me. Do you miss Quinn?"

Barney's jaw set firm as he measured coffee into the k-cup and fit it into place. "Hell no."

"Did Quinn keep the ring?"

"Hell yes. She even sent me the bill to have it reset."

Robin cringed. "Tell me you did not pay for that."

There was a hiss of steam as coffee gurgled into the first mug. "Nah, it's fine. What would I do with Quinn's ring anyway? Take it back to the jeweler and tell him 'she said no?' Like that's not the most humiliating thing in the world. No thank you." He slid the mug across the counter to Robin.

"Huh. I never thought of it that way. I don't know what Ted did with my ring." She wrapped both hands around the sleek black mug and let the warmth seep into her skin.

Barney repeated the process with the second mug. "Ted will treasure that ring all the days of his life, as a memory of a love that was never meant to be."

"I cannot rule that out." She leaned against the counter and raised the mug to bathe her face in the vapors. "He'll probably keep it in its original box and take it out to show his and Tracy's kids when they're big enough to understand."

Coffee splashed over the edge of Barney's mug. He grabbed a paper towel and mopped at the spill. "Think he's going to marry her?"

"He's totally going to marry her. Don't make any firm plans for any Saturdays in June."

Barney flipped open the lid on the sugar dispenser. "Ted isn't going to invite me."

"Of course Ted is going to invite you. You're best friends."

"Best friends who haven't talked in over a year?" He poured a long stream of sugar into his mug.

Robin kept her fingers wrapped around her mug. If she didn't, she'd reach out to him. Touch his arm, stroke her thumb over crisp hair and firm muscle. "Ted misses you. All those things that made everything weird for everybody don't matter anymore. I'm not engaged to Ted. You're not engaged to Quinn."

"True." He opened the cutlery drawer and took out a spoon.

"The reason I moved to Chicago in the first place was because I didn't want things to be weird for you and Quinn." But mostly him. No, totally him. Quinn could eat dirt.

"That's not why you got engaged to Ted, is it?"

Robin reached for the sugar even though she didn't want any. "Things were complicated. There was Nora and Kevin and us and Dr. Sonya and Quinn and," that was a lot of sugar. She set the dispenser down. "Ted offered me a way out of all that. I know it wasn't the best option to take, but that's the only thing I knew how to do."

"Would you actually have married Ted?"

She still didn't know. "There are worse things a girl could do. He's kind and dependable. He's funny. He's smart. He's gainfully employed. He's still a homeowner in case I ever wanted to move to Westchester."

"Which you do not. You'd have gone stir crazy within a month. You're a city girl. I know that. Ted knows that. New York knows that, and," her breath caught at the glitter in his eyes, "it wants you to come out and play."

"Can I finish my coffee first?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Yeah, sure. I'm not a monster. Precaffienation is essential to our plans for the day." Especially essential to actually making some.

Robin's eyes narrowed as she regarded him over the rim of her mug. "We have plans for the day?"

"Of course we have plans. Just because you can't get to Vancouver doesn't mean you have to miss Christmas."

"I'm not going to miss Christmas. I'm spending it with you. Sweatpants, movies, gorging on whatever your housekeeper stocked in your kitchen. Plenty of people would count that the perfect holiday."

Plenty of people, but not Robin. Barney knew her better than that. "Nah, that's the depressing single guy spending the holiday alone version, and we," he gestured first to her and then himself, "are not most people. Tell me the truth, is sitting on that couch, under that blanket, eating an entire tin of three flavor popcorn and watching bad made for TV movies starring washed up child stars what you were going to do at your mother's?" Never mind that, twenty four hours ago, that had been the extent of his own Christmas itinerary. That was him. Robin deserved better.

Robin answered with a smile so wistful she might fade into soft focus at any minute. If this were a movie, the present scene would fade out, replaced by the picture she painted with her words. "No," she replied with a slight shake of her head. Her braids swayed dark against the heavy white cotton of her t-shirt. "The staff would have had the place all decorated with white lights and evergreen boughs gathered from the forest. The cook would have made an amazing brown sugar ham for Christmas Eve and the best turkey in the world for Christmas Day dinner. Do not," she jabbed a finger at Barney, "tell Lily I said that. She'll never let me forget it, and make it her life's mission to top Cook's turkey with hers."

He could think of worse things than Lily's turkey, but drew an imaginary zipper across his lips and crossed his heart.

That seemed to satisfy her. "I always have to bring pants one size larger to wear home, then spend half the first week of January at the gym. There is food available from the second I walk in the door; mince pies, mulled wine, hot cider, Christmas cake with candied fruit in it. Tourtière," she said that last on a sigh so plaintive it twisted his gut.

"What's tourtière?"

"Only the best meat pie you'll ever have, but here's the part you'll like best. At the end of the meal, Cook would carries in a huge plum pudding, douses it with brandy and sets it on fire. I'm talking real flames here, all the lights turned off so we can see them better. Not wimpy yellow and orange fireplace flames. I'm talking blue-hot."

Barney set down his mug. He couldn't hold a physical object and the image Robin brought to life at the same time. He braced both hands on the counter, and pictured a long table with silver and china, all faces turned toward the cook's arrival, flames leaping from, what, a bowl of pudding? Like the Jell-o stuff? Probably not. Canadian pudding had to be different from American pudding. He'd sound dumb if he asked how, so he didn't. "Canadian Christmas sounds awesome."

Robin's cheeks plumped and pinkened while she took another sip of her coffee, her eyes extra-blue as their gazes met. Happy blue. Happy-Robin blue. His favorite color. Besides gray. "It is," she said after she lowered her cup, knuckles white where she gripped the handle. "Pretty much my mom's whole side of the family would be there. Some of my Canadian friends had plans to drop by, or I could go out and see them when I'd had enough of my relatives, which would be pretty early in the day. I haven't seen some of them in a really long time." Her voice dropped lower, as though she could pack away her dashed hopes. "Some of them have husbands or wives or kids I haven't even met yet. I wasn't looking forward to telling some of the older relatives I'm not engaged anymore, especially for the second time in one year, but that's a small price to pay." Coffee splashed over the rim of her cup to splatter on the countertop.

Barney set down his mug and circled around to the other side of the counter in three quick steps. "Hey there." He took her mug and set it beside his before he wrapped his arms around her shoulder. He would have gone to Vancouver with her if he'd known where she was going, put himself between her and any questions, however well intentioned, that would cause her any pain. Hell, he'd be her fake boyfriend if that would keep the questions about two broken engagements at bay. He'd still go, if she needed a Christmas wingman. Or New Year's. "I didn't mean to make you cry. It's all going to be okay. We'll get you on the first flight out. It won't be long. Christmas is twelve days, right?" For Canada's sake, it had better be.

Robin stiffened within his embrace. He felt it first at the base of her spine, quick and strong enough that he could hear her father's gravely voice, buried deep in her mind, fighting its way out of its cage to admonish her for being too soft. For being female. For being. "I'm not crying." She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and blinked. "Not about missing Christmas in Canada."

"Yes, you are." He reached past her to grab a fresh paper towel from the roll and handed it to her. "There is nothing wrong with that. It's okay to want to go home."

Robin crumpled the towel in her hand and swiped it once over her eyes before she pressed it to the coffee spill. Dark brown soaked into white paper. "Okay, maybe," she said at last. "Katie's going to be there, and Jessica has a new baby. I haven't seen either of them in forever. It's been a really hard year. Chicago isn't home, and I'm tired of pretending it is." She took in a ragged breath. "Christmas in Vancouver would have been really, really nice after all of this year's crap. Long walks in the woods. Ice skating. Sleigh rides. Snowball fights with my cousins. Gathering around the big fireplace for eggnog and Christmas cookies and listening to all the old stories. Even sleeping in my old room and letting somebody take care of me, even if it would be only the housekeeper."

Barney skimmed along the dampened curve of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I'll take care of you. It'll be even better here, because we're starting from scratch. You design exactly the Christmas you want, and I will make it happen. Your mother's tree would already be up and decorated, right?"

Robin twirled the end of one braid around her finger. "Both of them. The tabletop tree in the foyer and the big one in the great room."

"Okay, see, we can top that. You wouldn't be able to decorate either of the trees at your mom's house, but you can decorate the tree here."

"There isn't any tree here." She flicked both braids behind her shoulders and crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed.

Barney squared his shoulders. "You mean there isn't any tree here yet. We'll go see my tree guy and you can pick out whatever kind of tree you want. Big, little, green, blue, anything. Two if you want. Three." Where they'd put a second or third tree, he didn't know, but that didn't matter. They'd figure it out. Maybe one on the balcony.

"Are you sure your tree guy is going to be available in this weather?"

Her skepticism only made him more certain. "Please. It's Christmas Eve. All trees must go. I have it on very good authority that my tree guy will be there, and delighted to see a paying customer. Especially one with such a charming companion as I will be bringing him. I bet we can even get a free wreath out of the deal, complete with big red velvet bow."

"What about ornaments? Even you wouldn't put up a naked tree."

Barney waved a hand in dismissal. "Please. This apartment has seen stranger naked things than a pine tree."

Her smile spread, small and tentative, but genuine. She'd been there for more than a few of those. "That is true, but really, is it even worth it to go shopping for ornaments in this weather? The stores that are open are going to be insane."

"No need to shop. My mom gave me a whole box of Christmas stuff from her house when I told her I was getting married. There's ornaments in there, lights, garlands, the whole deal. We'll get the tree back here, I'll get the decorations out of storage, and the two of us will make a winter wonderland that will put Lily's finest efforts to shame. Snowsuit up, Sherbatsky. This is happening."


	6. Chapter 6

"Robin, I'm not kidding. This really is the right place." Barney remained firmly rooted in place at the entrance to a vacant lot between two brick storefronts that looked like relics from another century. There were trees, Robin would give him that. Tall ones, short ones, fluffy ones, skinny ones, even the obligatory Charlie Brown special, complete with a single red bulb dangling from its sturdiest limb. A wooden lean-to, painted red and green, sheltered two men in identical navy blue down jackets and bright red Santa hats. One was tall and drug-addict skinny, the other average height and stouter. Tree Guy Number One and Tree Guy Number Two?

She didn't know where she'd expected they'd end up after they left Barney's apartment. He'd started walking, she'd followed, and they'd ended up here. It didn't fit with the Barney she knew, but two years could change a lot. Two years ago, he'd have taken her to some swanky department store, maybe, or a pop up Christmas tree boutique staffed by some big name designer. Maybe an abandoned warehouse in the meat packing district, an unmarked white van with no windows parked outside it. Maybe the van itself. Not this, not a roped-off lot flanked by a laundromat and a homeless shelter. She shielded her eyes from the deluge of snow to check the signs again. Coin Laundry. Christmas Trees. My Father's House. "This is your tree guy?" She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and trudged toward the lot. She really had been gone a long time.

"Mike is a friend of Sam's, and the director at My Father's House. Sam made me promise I'd come here if I needed a tree." Barney indicated the shorter of the two men, and peered through the falling snow as both men rose from their seats. "Gabriel," he finished, "is a very important client."

Of the shelter, not GNB, Robin surmised, from the deep purple circles beneath Gabriel's clear brown eyes. If she asked this guy how long he'd been clean, he'd be able to tell her, down to the minute.

"Barney!" Tree Guy Number One, no, Mike, Robin corrected herself, pushed away from the bench and strode toward them, plump cheeks spreading with genuine pleasure. "What happened to Bejing?" he asked, one second before he enfolded Barney in a bear hug.

Barney returned the embrace, delivered two thumps to the older man's back and pulled away. "Prayers must have worked, because I finished early. I ran into my friend, Robin, in the airport after her flight got canceled. Hey, Gabriel. How's it going?"

Gabriel's teeth flashed white against olive skin. "Good, good." He dug one hand into his pocket and withdrew a red coin pinched between two fingers. "Eight months, two weeks and three days." He held the coin up for Barney's inspection, then dropped it back in his pocket. "Got the job, too. They liked the suit. Said it showed initiative."

"Awesome. Suit only helped; it's all you." He turned to Robin. "Gabriel is one of my best students, and the newest member of GNB's custodial staff."

"You have students?" That was a new one, but it shouldn't have been a surprise. This close, Robin could see the small GNB logos embroidered on the collars of both men's coats. "What are you teaching them? Does this have anything to do with the Playbook?"

Barney coughed into his fist. "It does not. Some of the guys here want to get a leg up on getting back in the job market. I help make that happen. No big deal."

Robin shook her head. A job meant one step back toward a normal life for men like Gabriel. She clamped her lips together to keep herself from dropping a kiss on Barney's cheek. Or mouth. Either way. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be that bad.

"What can we do for you today?" Mike asked.

"We're going to need three trees," Barney held up three fingers.

Robin shrank back behind Barney. Heat flooded her cheeks. "One tree."

Barney grabbed the hem of her jacket and pulled her back to his side. "Three trees. One potted, one tabletop and how big are the big ones?"

"Our tallest are five to seven feet." Gabriel indicated the tallest trees in the back of the lot.

Barney's head dipped in a single nod. "Perfect. Gabriel, the big tree is lady's choice, anything she wants."

Robin's brows drew together. "You brought me all the way out here so you could not pick out your own Christmas tree?" That didn't make any sense, unless the man was planning something. She focused her senses on him with laser focus, her eyes narrowed. What's really going on?

What? Nothing. He lifted one brow and jerked a thumb back toward the lean-to. "I want to catch up with Mike for a few minutes, that's all. You can narrow down the choices and we can make the final pick together."

She regarded him for a long moment. Damn, those puppy dog eyes were lethal. Snowflakes on the tips of his lashes only cranked the effect up to eleven. "Fine, but if I have to come after you, you are going to regret it."

"I'll be there before you can even miss me."

"A likely story," Robin said, but turned to follow Gabriel down the center path toward the back of the lot anyway. Not quite a walk in the woods, but close enough. The scents of snow and pine soothed her. She wound the end of one braid around her gloved fingers. She'd kept the braids in, partly to see his expression when it hit him she was really going out with his handiwork still in place, and partly because he'd actually done a good job. Lucky Sadie. Lucky Robin, too.

She couldn't kid herself. The rhythmic motions of his hands in her hair had settled her nerves, his touch both practical and sensual at the same time. Sensuous, even. He hadn't tried anything, which should have surprised her, but it didn't. That in itself was a surprise. Barney might not have tried anything, but there were two of them. No telling what might have happened if she'd given voice to the purr that rose in her throat, leaned back against the solid warmth of his chest.

Sex had never been a problem with Barney and her. They'd nailed that, pun intended, from their very first time together. Barney played her like a Cape Breton fiddler, hands, mouth and body coaxing a whole symphony out of places she didn't even know had nerve endings. Not only the first time, either. It wasn't the novelty. It was him. A shiver completely unrelated to the cold coursed through her at the mere thought of that secret summer they'd shared.

"Cold, miss?" Gabriel's voice drew Robin back to the present. "We have hot coffee in the lean-to." He pointed back toward hand-lettered sign affixed to the side of the lean-to.

Somebody, Robin noted, had an artistic side. Probably Gabriel, if the white paint that speckled the legs of his jeans was any indication. White letters advertising free coffee and hot chocolate arched over a neatly printed list of the lot's other wares: Christmas trees, garlands, wreaths, mistletoe. Mistletoe. Robin opened her purse and rooted for her wallet. "No coffee, thanks, but there is something I need you to get for me, and GQ cover boy over there absolutely cannot know about it."

Gabriel's face paled. He stepped back, both hands out to ward off whatever she might say next. "Miss, I don't know what you've been told, but I don't do that anymore."

"What? God, no." Her gaze flicked to the neon cross on the wall of the shelter. "Sorry. I need," her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip, "the last thing on the sign."

"Delivery, miss?"

He was going to make her say it. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Mistletoe. I need you to get me mistletoe. I'll pay for it here, look at some trees, you go get it and bring it back. Without you know who seeing." She plucked the first bill her fingers brushed against and held it out to Gabriel.

He took it. "I can do that. Have a look around. I'll be right back with," his voice dropped to match hers, "the item and your change."

Apprehension squeezed her chest. Crap. The cash box was in the lean-to, same as Barney and Mike. "No, I, um, don't need change. The rest is a donation. You can put it all in the cash box after we've left. If my friend gets back here before you do, I will deny everything and you can keep the money."

That earned her a conspiratorial wink. "Not going to happen, miss. I'm fast." He took off down the center path at a trot.

Great, like that's not going to look suspicious. She busied herself with the trees, peeking between branches, looking for pinecones. Trees with pinecones beat out trees without pinecones. She snuck glances back at the lean-to between each tree, her eyes trained on the black knit cap pulled low over baby chick hair. Crap. He's standing up. Her heart pounded. Maybe she could still catch Gabriel, call the whole thing off.

Her first step into the center path dashed that hope. Gabriel strode toward her, both hands in his pockets, long mouth tipped up at the corners. He motioned her behind a row of the tallest trees and handed over the goods mere seconds before Barney's voice cut through the blood rushing in her ears.

"What did I tell you? Free wreath, complete with red velvet bow and jingle bells. See anything good?" The two bells affixed to the center of the bow tinkled as he held the wreath aloft.

Robin checked a random branch on the nearest tree. It had pinecones. It would do. "The sign says this one is six feet. Stand next to it so I can check."

Barney did, his back so perfectly straight that she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're an idiot. Yep, six feet. This one. Stand down," she added when he didn't move.

"This one? Thinking small there, Sherbatsky. I said we're getting three trees, and we are getting three trees. Your mom is not going to show us up in the tree department." He signaled Gabriel, who hauled on work gloves over his fingerless mitts. "We'll take this one, for delivery, that really fat tabletop tree near the entrance, and the tall skinny potted tree. All for delivery. Mike has the address. Wreath, too?" He waited for Gabriel's nod and handed over the wreath, then turned back to Robin. "Ready for lunch yet? I did promise you real pizza."

Pizza actually did sound good. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her they'd come all this way on coffee alone. "Um, aren't you forgetting something? Like paying for the trees?"

Gabriel shouldered the tree. "Already taken care of, miss. Merry Christmas."

Robin studied the too-straight set of Barney's mouth. Oh, he was good, he was, but he forgot she knew his tells. "You bought all the trees, didn't you?"

"It's Christmas. Pizza?"


	7. Chapter 7

"What, no reaction? Really? Man, you are losing it. I'd have thought you'd be all over that one. I gave you gold on a platter there, mister, and you're not even touching it?" Robin stared hard at him over the grease-stained paper plates that held their repast, two gigantic slices of New York pizza. "We are finding an open store and I am buying you a giant book of Sudoku puzzles, because you are now officially that lame."

Crap. She'd said something he should have reacted to, and he hadn't. She was right, he hadn't been listening, except he had, but to her voice, not her words. It wasn't his fault. Eighteen months without a daily dose of Robin Sherbtasky did things to a man. Bad things. Getting up close and personal with her after all that time was like a junkie riding a high. Direct injection, that's what it was, seeing her in the airport. A shot of the pure stuff, right into his bloodstream, a dislocated joint popping back into place. Barney coughed into his fist. "No. There is no need for that, although I totally kill at Sudoku. You have, and have had, my full attention."

"So what did I just tell you?" He read challenge in her narrowed eyes, the slight upward curve that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Focus. Grab onto a keyword and stick to that. His mind raced to remember the sounds, if not the context. Work. They'd been talking about work. Work was safe. Facts. Anecdotes. Okay. She was telling him a story about work. What was the word she used most frequently? Don. Unless it was part of a bigger word, like mastodon, this was a Don story. Barney's fist clenched around the shreds of his paper napkin. His mind whirled in search of the second most frequently used word. Elevator. Stuck. "You and Don got stuck in an elevator. So many ways I could go with that, I'm trying to pick the best one."

Robin shook her head. "You're forgetting I know all your bluffs. Not buying it. I am totally getting you that Sudoku book." She picked up her slice and folded it in half.

"Bring it. I will solve every one of those puzzles before your fight leaves." He'd forgotten how much he loved watching her eat pizza. Her eyes closed as she took her first bite. The moan of pure indulgence that escaped her lips a second later reminded him of the way she threw herself into another physical activity that was not at all suitable for public consumption.

Barney snatched the red metal napkin dispenser from the table and stashed it on the seat next to him. He had to shut these thoughts down before they consumed him. Robin was leaving. He had to remember that. The second the first flight for Vancouver got cleared for takeoff, he'd be taking her back to the airport and that would be the end of it. They'd been out of each other's lives for a year and a half. Twenty-four hours ago, they'd each thought the other was married. Happily married. He'd sworn off women. She'd sworn off men. Nothing could happen between them. Nothing was going to happen.

But braids…. Braids did not look like that on Sadie. Barney had no idea why he'd started braiding Robin's hair in the first place. Sure, it was soft. Silky, even, and his shampoo smelled different on her. So much better, that he'd positioned himself so he could sneak in a sniff or ten without her noticing. He'd been so tired he couldn't see straight, the TV was on, there was hair between his fingers, and it happened. Maybe it was all the accents; Sadie had inherited her grandmother's Julie Andrews obsession, and Love Actually could sound an awful lot like Mary Poppins to someone who hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Then Robin questioned his ability and here they were, her with two dark braids lying over the shoulders of a fuzzy white sweater that begged to be touched, wisps loose about her face, and him staring so hard she put down her slice and stared back.

"What?"

Fuck. Blood pounded in his ears. She'd caught him. "You have some sauce right, um," he made a vague gesture encompassing the lower half of her face.

Her hand hovered above the space where the napkin dispenser had been. "Did you take all the napkins? Put them back."

"Not until you admit New York pizza is superior to Chicago pizza."

Robin glowered. "That was never a question. Napkin. Now." She dabbed the back of her hand across her mouth and scowled.

Barney cradled the dispenser against his shoulder. "Admit New York, in general, is better than Chicago, in general."

"Have you ever been to Chicago?"

"I've had layovers, and by layovers, I mean-"

She didn't let him finish. "I know what you mean. Everybody knows what you mean. New York rules. Now hand over the napkins."

"I don't trust you with blunt objects when your nostrils flare like that. I'll get it." He dipped the corner of his napkin into his water bottle, then touched the wet napkin to an imaginary spot next to Robin's mouth. His knuckles brushed against her lower lip. A sharp bolt of arousal shot through him. He applied the napkin next to the smudge of deep pink her lipstick had left on his skin. "Got it."

"Thanks." She paused then and tilted her head. "You're really not here, are you? Are you okay? Is it Quinn?"

Barney dropped the napkin as though it were on fire. "What? No. It's not Quinn. It is not Quinn. It's good to see you, that's all. I didn't think that was going to happen for," he picked at the label on the water bottle, "a really long time. Maybe not until you and Ted had a couple of kids or something." He set down the bottle and picked up his slice.

Robin's gaze dropped for only a second. "Or you and Quinn had kids."

"Ew, no." The words charged out around a mouthful of pizza. "Not while I'm eating. The mere idea of me having any part in creating even a single mini-Quinn is the true nightmare before Christmas." He dropped the half-eaten slice back onto the plate. "Good movie, Nightmare Before Christmas; we should watch that, but no, thank you."

"Wait, are you saying that your kids with Quinn would be worse than my kids with Ted?"

Barney grabbed a fistful of napkins and wiped his hands. "Please. Those kids would be half-Ted and half-Canadian. Pointing out a stacked deck like that would be nothing short of impolite. Speaking of stacked, nice sweater. Is that angora?"

Robin raised her water bottle. "Now, there's the Barney I know and usually tolerate, and yes, it is. No need to worry about the mini-Teds' futures, because they will also be mini-Tracys, and it is downright scary how well those two mix. Their kids are going to be freaking adorable." She took a swig of her water. The sweep of her lashes shielded her eyes from his view.

He'd stepped over a line. He didn't know what line, or where or when, but he had. Still time to turn it around, though. "So, Tracy's cool?"

"She is. We'd probably be friends anyway, even without Ted. I mean, she's not Lily, but it's nice to have a single female friend. Not that Tracy's really single-single. Feels like I'm cheating on Lily sometimes, though. Do not tell her I said that."

"You really think Lily doesn't want you to have friends? You have been away too long. Other than that, being friends with your ex-fiancé's future fiancée is very modern. There could be a made for TV movie in there somewhere. Ted would probably have to be a serial killer, though, if you wanted to get it on cable. Or a single father. Maybe both. Cover all bases, get better ratings that way."

Amusement sparked in Robin's eyes. "Right, and then Tracy and I can raise the kids together once he's brought to justice or falls down an elevator shaft or something. Do we have to kill Ted? I broke up with him."

Barney pretended to consider. "I don't know. Maybe he can reform behind bars and get paroled when he's too old to do any harm to anyone. So, it's really not weird between the two of you?"

"Kind of. Sometimes. Like I said, we're working our way to a new normal. When it gets too weird, we can usually play nice for Tracy's sake. She wants us all to get along so much, it's kind of like a force of nature. Speaking of which," she tilted her head toward the swirling deluge of white outside the restaurant. "We should probably get going if we want to get back to your place before they deliver the trees. I don't see a lot of cabs out there."

Barney slid out of his seat and strode to the front window. He didn't see any cabs. Not a single speck of yellow. "I think we're going to have to walk the whole way. Are you up for that? I could call Ranjit."

Robin took a final drink from her water and screwed the cap back on the bottle. "You want to take a loving grandfather away from his grandchildren on Christmas Eve? Not a chance. In Canada, we call snow like this a light flurry." She retrieved Barney's scarf from its place on the back of his chair and draped it about his neck. "Question is, are you up for this?"

"You have no idea how much."


	8. Chapter 8

Robin dropped back behind Barney, allowing him to get first one pace ahead of her, then two. She knew him well enough to know he'd stick to the path. Any time now, she told herself, the perfect moment would present itself. She rolled the snowball she'd been carrying for a full five minutes into shape. She selected her target, drew her arm back and let the snowball fly. It slammed into the back of Barney's head, then disintegrated into a puff of white.

Barney whirled around, eyes wide, mouth agape, a mixture of mischief and disbelief etched on his face. "It's like that, is it?" He stared hard at her through the falling snow, his voice low and ominous as he advanced on her with long, smooth strides.

"Yeah, it is." Robin skimmed her hand along the top of the waist-high concrete wall and scooped more snow into her palm, her sight still trained on him with laser focus. That's where the next one was going, right on the peak of his lapel. She patted the snow into shape. "Are you going to tell me you didn't think this was going to happen when you decided to cut through the park? That you didn't want this?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I most assuredly want this. Bring it." One leather-gloved hand dipped into the snow that mounded atop a wooden bench.

"Oh, I'll bring it," she assured him in her most menacing whisper. They needed no words after that. Barney raced off ahead of her, took shelter behind a stand of bare-branched trees to assemble his arsenal while he evaded her merciless onslaught as best he could. He was surprisingly agile; she'd forgotten how much, but there wasn't that great a difference between a snowball fight and laser tag. Except for the snow. She had the home advantage there, and she'd already decided she was going to win this one. She had to.

She charged after him, chased him through the sculpture garden and around an empty fountain, dodged the snowballs he hurled at her. Well, most of them. He got in a fair amount of hits, she'd give him that. He played a good defensive game but, in the end, she was the one who straddled his prone form as he lay on his back. He was the one pinned in place where he'd fallen, face flushed from exertion, blue eyes bright as he begged for mercy. She was the one with a handful of snow poised above that vulnerable spot between chin and scarf, ready to stuff the cold, wet glob as far down below his collar as she could get. She could kiss him now, she told herself, if she moved only a little bit. All she had to do was lean forward, touch her lips to his. She couldn't. Instead, she allowed two drips of snow to fall on his exposed throat. "Say it."

Indecision flicked across Barney's face for only half a second. "Okay, okay, you win. Snowball fight champion of the world. I will never again pick a snowball fight with a Canadian."

Robin opened her hand and crumbled the snow into the drift. "That's all I wanted to hear." Not all of it, a small voice in the back of her head reprimanded her. Not even close. She rolled herself off him, then hauled herself to standing as he did the same. White clung to every inch of him, as though he'd been rolled in sugar. One tail of his plaid scarf trailed down the front of his coat. She reached out to tuck it back into place. His muscles tensed beneath her touch. His breathing quickened. All she'd have to do was tilt her head now. He'd get the signal.

The buzz of Barney's phone vibrating in his pocket broke the charged silence that settled over them. He retrieved the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. "It's Gabriel. He's waiting outside."

Robin nodded her acknowledgement. They had to go. As easy as that, it was over. They walked the rest of the way to Barney's building in silence, at a fast clip, side by side.

It took only a moment to make the arrangements once they'd reached the entrance. Robin rode up in the service elevator with Gabriel and the trees, Barney's spare key clutched in her hand, while Barney headed down to basement storage to retrieve the decorations.

She pet the branches of the big tree as soon as Gabriel left, his wish for a merry Christmas still ringing in her ears. If this were a made for TV Christmas movie, the tree would be magic. It would grant her most heartfelt Christmas wish, to be somebody's number one again. True love, how pathetic. She fingered a baby pinecone and wished anyway.

Not one second later, the door swung open to reveal Barney, large cardboard box in arms. "Everything you ever wanted, right here.

"What?" She whirled to face him, her eyes wide.

He pointed to the box. "For Christmas decorations. There's lights, ornaments, garland, two whole packages of that silver tinsel string stuff that sticks to everything. If you want anything else, the bodega on the corner has pretty much everything, and they never close. If it's not on the shelves, it's in the back."

In a Christmas movie, the bodega would be magic, too. The owner would be either Santa Claus or an angel, able to procure some long-lost treasure from Robin's childhood that would wipe away the wounds of her past in an instant. She'd believe in the magic of Christmas again, maybe even true love. This wasn't a movie. "Eggnog?"

Barney set the box down on the coffee table. "Already in the refrigerator. Want some?"

Robin wound the end of one damp braid around her finger. "That would be great."

"I don't have a fireplace to drink it in front of, but we do have the next best thing." A flick of the remote on his way to the kitchen turned the giant screen to the Yule Log channel. "How's that?" he asked from the other side of the counter. He opened the cabinet and took out two rocks glasses, then crossed to the refrigerator to withdraw a cardboard carton.

Gargantuan flames licked at a log as long as the couch. "Feels like home. Is it too early for spiked eggnog?"

"It's never too early for spiked eggnog." Barney held up a bottle for her approval and waited for her nod before he added a generous splash to both cups. "Homesick?" He came back around the counter, one cup in each hand.

Robin accepted her drink with a wistful smile. "Not for Canada." She took a sip and pulled a gaudy gold and silver tinsel garland from the top of the box. "Being out with you today made me realize how much I missed-" She bit her lip. She couldn't give too much away here. She'd be flying out as soon as she can, and neither of them knew when they'd see each other again.

His brows flashed up at the inner corners. The crooked set of his mouth prodded her to continue. He tipped his own glass to his lips. He wasn't going to let her out of this.

"New York," she finished. She set down her drink and focused her attention on the knotted garland. "Did your mom use this to practice her macramé or something?"

Barney's laugh echoed off the walls. "If my mom had practiced her macramé on the garlands, she would have gotten better. If you miss New York, you should move back."

Robin shook her head. "It's not that easy."

"What isn't? Moving? Buy some boxes, put all your stuff into those boxes, hire movers, take everything to the new place, take the stuff out of the boxes and you're done. Then call me and we can hang out."

"Um, first, I would have to find a new place. That could take forever, and I can't fly back and forth all the time to do all that looking around. It's not like I could crash on somebody's couch while I hunted for some overpriced one bedroom walkup."

Barney's mouth shaped into a scowl. "With the sweet paycheck a journalist with your track record can command, you will not be looking at any one bedroom walkups. Try penthouse. Stay here while you look. I'm going to want my bedroom back if this is going to be a long term thing, but you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

Heat prickled the back of her neck. "No, I couldn't. It would be weird."

"It would be less weird than you being stuck in a city you hate. Name one thing you love about Chicago, and you can't say Ted."

"I wasn't going to say Ted." Robin set aside the garland and delved deeper into the box. A set of red and green glass bulbs, perfectly round and lovingly packed in newspaper composed the next layer. She scanned the crumpled newsprint for the date. Barney would have been eighteen, off to college, leaving Loretta with an empty nest. Memories of another Christmas, not that long ago when Robin had to say goodbye to any chances of children with Barney pinched at her. I know how you feel, she willed to the Loretta of long ago. Kind of. "I have my job," she said at last.

Barney fixed her with a demanding gaze. "Do you love it?"

That, she could answer without hesitation. "No. The show is cheesy, and my boss is Don."

"So move back to New York. There are loads of jobs here. You'll find something. I'll help. New York needs Robin Sherbatsky. It isn't the same without you. I didn't know how much until I saw you in the airport. At least think about it?"

She fingered the dusty newsprint. "I'll think about it."

"All right, then. We'll get the big tree up and then it's movie time. It's my turn to pick the movie, and we will be viewing the Canadian classic, Mon Oncle Antoine."

Her pulse skipped. "That's really nice of you, but, um, you haven't actually seen Mon Oncle Antoine, have you?"

"I have not."

"It's in French."

He shrugged. "I know a little French."

Robin crossed her arms. "The only French you know is dirty."

"True, but there should be subtitles, and you can translate anything I don't know. It'll be fun."

It would be. Any movie with him would be. "This is really the movie you want to see? The heartwarming tale of an orphaned boy who goes to live with his uncle, the undertaker?"

Barney bristled with affront. "Yes, it is, and we are going to watch it while bathed in the glow of about eight thousand of the most awesome Christmas lights ever to adorn an evergreen." He held up a knotted tangle of multicolored lights from the box. "You take one end and I'll work from the other. Kind of like Lady and the Tramp, but with lights instead of spaghetti." He flashed a quick grin.

She totally should have kissed him in the park. He'd taste like eggnog if she kissed him now. That was not in any way a deterrent. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lower lip as she accepted one end of the lights. "Are they steady burning or do they blink?"

"Do you even have to ask? They blink. Not in time to music or anything like that, just on and off. I should probably make sure they still work. I remember one time Mom couldn't find the one burned out bulb, so she called our next door neighbor, Mr. Schmidt, over to help her find it. Real handy guy, owned a totally sick bike shop. He and Mom took the lights into my mom's room because that's where the best outlets were, and half an hour later, everything worked perfectly. James and I got the most awesome new bikes that Christma-." He broke off there. Realization dawned in his eyes. "And I just now figured that out. Moving on." He plugged in the lights. The entire string blinked, blue, red, gold and green. They stared at the lights in silence for a moment before Barney pulled the plug and resumed his untangling.

"So, what happened with you and Quinn?" As soon as the words were out, she wished she could call them back, but too late for that.

Barney worked at a knot in the lights. "I don't know. Maybe living together allowed us to finally see each other, and neither one of us liked what we saw. As bad as things got, when we finally decided to call off the engagement, it was the cleanest breakup I've ever had."

Robin's fingers stilled on the lights. "But you loved Quinn."

Three precise lines creased his forehead. "No. I don't think I did. I loved the idea of her, and maybe she loved the idea of me, but Real Quinn and Real Barney? That was never going to work. Better to find out before the wedding than after it."

He had a point. "So you didn't marry Quinn, I didn't marry Ted, and we both spent all this time apart for no good reason?"

"Hey. I gave you a choice. We had one last shot to run away together and you did not take it."

"Would you really have run away with me if I'd said yes?"

There was no hesitation in his response. "Yes."

The naked honesty in that one word disarmed her. He would have, she knew that now, even if she would have picked Vermont over Dubai because it was closer to Canada. Why hadn't she? It could have been that easy. "Barney…"

He cut her off. "Water under the bridge. Lights look untangled to me. What do you think, spiral from top to bottom?" He handed her one end of the string and moved toward the tree.

They strung the lights together, then the garland, no discussion between them beyond the task at hand. She didn't mind. Barney produced a box of paper clips when they run out of ornament hooks. An entire layer of handmade ornaments lurked beneath the glass balls. They hung God's eyes of multicolored yarn wound around popsicle sticks; purple and white and yellow and blue, red and orange and neon ombre. A picture of Loretta and her boys in a snowflake frame came next, school-age Barney and James dressed in identical reindeer sweaters, Loretta in the middle. Robin plucked the next ornament from the box, a clay medallion with a small handprint, Barney's name, and the date, nineteen eighty. The year Robin was born. She'd been a baby when he made this. He'd been four. She handed him the ornament. "You should hang this one."


	9. Chapter 9

Barney took the ornament by its frayed ribbon hanger. "I can't believe my mom saved this."

"She's your mom. Of course she saved an ornament you made." The wistful tone of Robin's voice pricked at him.

He sifted through the branches until he fond a spot halfway back at the same height he would have been when the ornament was new. "You probably have one like this on your mother's tree, right? On one of them? Unless they don't make handprint ornaments in Canada." He rose from his crouch and regarded her, unsure. "Do they?"

Robin answered with a single dip of her head, her arms crossed. "They do, and I did have one. My dad made me shoot it when I turned thirteen. Your mom wrapped yours in newspaper and gave it back to you when she thought you were going to start your own family. Little bit different there."

"That stinks that your dad did that. First thing, day after Christmas, we're going to make you one of those with this year's date and it's going to hang on your tree next year. Wherever that tree ends up being."

Robin dashed a hand over her eyes. "I'll probably be flying out by then."

He didn't want to think about that. "To Vancouver or Chicago?"

Her nose scrunched. "Christmas will already be over by then, so what's the point? Sure, it's still Christmas week, but it's not Christmas. It's not the same."

"No, it's not the same. It's better."

Her arched eyebrows drew together. "How is it better?"

"Think about it. JFK is huge. What are the odds that we would find each other? That I got back from Beijing the same time you came in from Chicago? What are the odds that your flight from Chicago to Vancouver would get diverted to New York in the first place? That's not even the same direction. Maybe it's," he sucked in a deep breath. "I can't believe I'm about to say this. Maybe it's fate."

"Fate." Robin spat the word out.

He'd spoken wrong. The one thing Robin Scherbatsky believed in less than miracles was fate. "You can't deny that you and I have unfinished business."

Robin turned from him and folded back one flap of the cardboard box. "I'd hardly call anything between us business." She bit off that last word and tossed a wad of crumpled newspaper from box to floor.

"Maybe business wasn't the right word. One day, you were there, and then you were just…gone. Ted, too, because you guys got engaged and moved away together. But mostly you. I missed you."

Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. "You have to know I couldn't have stayed. You were getting married. I couldn't be around that. You were happy. I wanted you to be happy. If that meant being with Quinn-"

Barney let out a ragged breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I thought I was happy with Quinn. Do you want the truth, though?"

Newspaper crunched between her fingers. "Always."

"I was happy with you. I backed off because you didn't want to be with me. After you picked Kevin," he ran a hand through his hair, "it wasn't a good time for me."

Her lips parted. "Barney."

He held up one hand to stave off whatever she might say next. "If I don't say it now, I won't, and you'll be gone again and I'll hate myself for missing the chance. It sucked that you weren't in my life for all that time. Every day, I wanted to tell you something, share something with you, and you weren't there."

"You had Quinn for that." Robin's mouth shaped Quinn's name as though it tasted like vinegar. "You finally had somebody who could be everything you wanted. You didn't need me messing everything up." She held out another ornament, this one green cardboard cut in the shape of a tree, scribbled with crayon and dripped in glitter.

"Yes, I did need you. Quinn was-" Barney's jaw clenched. This wasn't a Christmas Eve kind of story. Halloween, maybe. April Fool's, definitely, but not Christmas. He plucked the cardboard tree from Robin's hand and looped the yarn tie over one of the lower branches. "Quinn was fun for a while, but that got old really fast. What she had going on beneath that was the exact opposite of fun. I really needed you, but I wasn't going to butt in between you and Ted. You guys were, I mean, I thought you two were riding off into the sunset together." He stepped back from the tree and dusted his hands free of glitter. Silver specks drifted to the floor. "If only one of us can be happy, I am always going to make sure it's you."

Robin's stocking feet took two steps toward him. "Is that why you're making Christmas for me?"

"I've spent Christmas on my own before. I could do it again. Hell, I probably will, and on more than one occasion. I'm okay with that, but the thought of you not having lights and magic and being around people who love you, even if it's only me? There is never going to be any way I could live with myself if I let that happen. So yeah, that's why."

"Barney?" One more step closed the distance between them.

"Look up."

He looked up. A single sprig of mistletoe dangled from Robin's fingers above his head. "Where did you get that?"

"I have a mistletoe guy." Her voice teased, low and intimate.

Gabriel. Barney's throat grew thick. His pulse skittered in an erratic rhythm. "Does mistletoe mean the same thing in Canada?"

A sly smile curved Robin's lips. "It does," she answered, a mere heartbeat before her arms circled about his neck.

She smelled like old newspaper and tasted like eggnog and rum. Her body molded warm against his, soft and compliant. His hands threaded through her hair, tilted her head for the best angle. That part of himself he'd been missing all this time finally slid back into place as his mouth covered hers, her lips parted. This time, he wouldn't be the one to let go. He couldn't, even if he tried. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Robin pulled back. "You should probably get that."

"I don't want to." His voice rasped.

"It could be important. It could be your mom. She might have news." Robin tapped her own naked ring finger.

He fished the phone from his pocket. "Yeah, good point. Worst son ever, right?" He turned his attention to the screen. The caller ID hit him like a punch to the gut. "It's Ted." He put the phone to his ear and summoned his best casual tone. "Go for Barney."

There was a soft intake of breath before a decidedly not-Ted voice answered. "Barney? Hi. My name is Tracy McConnell. We haven't met, but I feel like I know you already from Ted's stories. I'm Ted's girlfriend, by the way. I should probably have led with that. Ted can't come to the phone right now, but he saw your message and insisted I let you know he got it."

It's Tracy, he mouthed to Robin. "Why can't Ted come to the phone?"

Robin cocked her head. One brown braid swished over white angora as she lay a hand on Barney's sleeve. She exerted no pressure, but the presence of her touch steadied him.

Another pause, then, "He's in the ER."

"What hospital? Is he okay? What happened?"

"Princeton-Plainsboro. He needs stitches, and he's pretty drugged up, but he'll be fine. My whole family went to that restaurant with the mistletoe drones flying around. My mom has a no phones at the table rule, but you know Ted. I don't know what was in that message, but he jumped out of the seat like the space shuttle. Right into the drone."

Barney worked his free hand into Robin's, their fingers entwined. He waited for her reassuring squeeze before he could find his voice. "What message? Mine? I, um, just wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas. I know it's been a long time, but it's…Christmas," he finished. His voice dropped to a whisper.

Robin stroked his sleeve from shoulder to elbow, her touch his anchor.

"Ted's really glad you called. Not so much about the drone, but my nephews thought it was hysterical. I think he's their favorite person now, but between you being the one to leave the message and all Ted's crazy Barney stories, I think you may be in the running. Did you really lick the Liberty Bell?" Tracy's words came out in one continuous stream of chatter. "There was a while there where I thought you were some kind of Tyler Durden thing, but then Robin showed me a picture of all three of you together. Whoops. Is it okay if I mention Robin?"

"Yeah, it's fine. So, Ted's going to be okay?"

There was a snort of muffled laughter before Tracy answered. "Considering the high quality painkillers they gave him, he's doing great. He wanted me to wish you and Quinn a Merry Christmas and ask if it's okay to call tomorrow when he's actually able to make sense?"

This time, Barney squeezed Robin's hand, so hard that her eyes went wide. "Sorry," he whispered, then, to Tracy, "Not you. I was talking to," he looked to Robin and waited for her nod. "I was talking to Robin. Quinn's, um," he closed his eyes for only a second, then held Robin's gaze and plunged ahead. "Quinn's not here. We broke up. Robin's here."

"Oh." The other end of the line went so silent that Barney had to check the screen to make sure Tracy hadn't ended the call. "Barney?" He put the phone back to his ear at the sound of his name. "Just to be clear, you're in the same room with Robin Scherbatsky right now? The same Robin Scherbatsky who used to be engaged to Ted?"

"That would be correct."

Tracy sucked in a breath. "Can I talk to her?"


	10. Chapter 10

Barney's brows drew together as he held the phone out to Robin. "Tracy wants to talk to you." Ted's caller ID, a picture of him passed out on the couch at the old apartment, filled the screen.

Why? Robin mouthed. Barney answered with only a shrug. Her fingertips brushed the inside of his wrist when she took the phone from him. She flipped one braid behind her shoulder and put the phone to her ear. "Hi."

"First of all," Tracy began, "how much of what I already told Barney did you hear?"

"All of it. I'm, um, standing right next to him. Decorating the tree," she added. Heat rose in her cheeks. "Barney bought a tree, so we had to decorate it. Well, them. He got three. We were on the first one. Big one first, because that's how it goes, right?" Robin stopped herself there. If Tracy didn't already suspect something was going on, her babbling was not going to help. "What did you need to talk to me about that you couldn't tell Barney?"

Tracy let out a soft breath. "I have one quick question, and it would have been really awkward if I asked him. Could you please describe your engagement ring?"

Robin covered the phone with her hand. "Girl talk," she whispered to Barney. "I'm going to take this in private." She didn't wait for his response, but made her way to the bedroom with long, quick steps and shut the door behind her. "Okay." She perched on the edge of Barney's bed, then focused her sight on the assortment of grooming products arranged on his dresser. Her free hand stroked the soft nap of his winter duvet, the mistletoe dropped from her fingers. Her lips still tingled from the pressure of his kiss. She averted her eyes from the mirror above the dresser. There was no way in the world she wanted to know what she looked like after a kiss like that one, not if she wanted to be there for Tracy. "You're going to have to narrow down the field on that one."

"Right." Tracy's laugh held more nerves than humor. "I mean your ring from Ted. Can you remind me what that looked like?"

Crap, this was one of those things a woman was supposed to remember for the rest of her life. "Okay, but can I ask why you're asking?"

"Because I never got a chance to have a really good look at it?" The nervous laugh at the end of Tracy's question sent up a red flag.

"Yeah, forgive me if I think that's not the reason. Did Ted give you a ring?"

There was a long pause, then, "Not exactly. He didn't give it to me, give it to me. I had to hold his jacket when the paramedics came, and there was a box in the pocket and I looked in the box in the ambulance and can you please please please tell me what your ring looked like before I hyperventilate? Again?"

Robin closed her eyes and rubbed the pad of her thumb over the empty space where first Kevin's, then Ted's rings used to sit. They hadn't been that different from each other. "I really don't pay attention to those kinds of things. It was gold, I think, and it had a diamond in it."

Tracy sighed. "You've just described every engagement ring ever."

Not every ring. Quinn's ring was platinum, its diamond heart shaped, kind of pinkish, anchored in a filigreed frame, but none of that would help her here. Tracy hadn't asked about Quinn's ring. She'd try to remember, for Tracy's sake, but the image wouldn't form, only Ted's eyes, dark and earnest. The soft sound of his voice echoed in her memory, his sincerity as he assured her she'd never have to be alone ever again, and how much she'd needed to hear that at the time. He'd had the ring in his hand then. She saw, as clear as if Ted were before her now, the way his hand shook, but what his hand held, that was another matter. "Yellow gold," she said at last. "The diamond was square, I think."

"You're sure it was square?" Tracy's voice ended the question on a squeak.

Robin twirled the end of one braid around her finger. "Honestly? I'm not. I know an engagement ring should be special, and there was only the one stone, so I should be able to remember what shape it was. I know squareish doesn't help, but-"

She didn't get to finish. "Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Are you sure there was only one stone?"

That much, Robin did know. "Yes. Just the one."

"This one has three. It has a big diamond and two little ones and the box is from a local jeweler." Tracy's breath came faster now. The last word cut off into a hiccup.

"Tracy. Breathe. I know you're already in a hospital, but the staff is busy enough already. That ring you're describing is absolutely not the ring Ted gave me."

A garbled voice on loudspeaker summoned a doctor with a name Robin couldn't decipher. "I, um, have to know one more thing. Did you break up with Ted because of me? You guys were engaged when we met, and then you weren't. I have to know, before I, um, see this ring again." Dead silence reigned.

"No," Robin answered without hesitation. "Absolutely not. Sure, Ted and I broke up after we met you, but it was because seeing the way he was with you shone a light on the fact that he and I were never going to work out as a couple. I'd have figured that out anyway. Maybe five days later, maybe five years later. Maybe I would have had to give him two rings back instead of just one." It could have gone like that, a miserable marriage, a messy divorce, no friendship to be salvaged from it. Her throat tightened at the mere thought of how things might have gone. "You didn't end what I have with Ted. You saved it."

"So if this ring is what I think it is and I answer the question I think Ted is going to ask with the answer I want to give, you're going to be okay with that?"

One more miracle for the magic Christmas tree. "Best Christmas present you could give me."

"That's only because you haven't seen what we actually did buy you, and you're spending Christmas with Barney. I take it this means you're not in Canada."

"I am not. My flight got diverted to JFK, and I ran into Barney." She plucked the mistletoe from the duvet cover and twirled it between her fingers.

A disembodied voice on the other end of the line announced a code purple. "That's not for Ted," Tracy assured Robin, then waited only a moment before her question cut through the buzz in Robin's mind. "And he's not married? Are they divorced? Man, Ted didn't know any of that, I swear."

Ted didn't, Robin knew that. He'd have said something, tried to break it to her gently, or celebrate in the true spirit of schadenfreude, whichever she wanted. "They never got married in the first place."

"So, Barney's single?"

"Completely. He has a plant. He's learning how to cook. His couch folds out." He knows how to braid hair. He sucks at snowball fights. I am so, so sunk. She bit her lower lip to keep the words back.

Tracy didn't need them. "So, Barney's single, you're single, and you're alone with him on Christmas Eve. Do I really need to spell things out for you? Do the right thing."

Robin leapt from the bed, spurred by the memories of all the nights she'd spent there. Her shin connected, hard, with the bedframe. "What if there is no right thing? This is me and Barney."

"There's always a right thing. You go out there, you give him your phone back, and you get back to doing whatever it was you were doing before I called."

The mistletoe warmed between her fingers. Yeah, that might not be the best idea in the world. "And then what?"

"Then Christmas," Tracy said, as if the whole thing could be reduced to something that easy. "There's a bunch of medical students headed for Ted's room, so I have to go, but you call if you need me, okay?"

If she needed Tracy. "You're the one whose almost-fiancé is in the emergency room."

"And you're the one with a second chance at love." Tracy drew the single word out to two syllables. Lo-ove.

Robin pushed both sleeves up to her elbows. Warm air brushed against sensitive skin as she paced from bed to dresser. Barney's dresser looked like the men's section of Sephora. She brushed the leaves of the mistletoe over the selection of dark glass bottles, jars and tubes, then turned the biggest bottle label side out. Handwritten characters fit neatly within a red frame, no English words to give her half a clue as to what the bottle contained. "Whoa there. Nobody said anything about love."

"Medical students. Bye." Ted's caller ID vanished from the screen, replaced by a portrait of Eli and Sadie, dressed in miniature suit and frilly dress. The Barney Robin used to know probably would have used that picture to launch a play; single dad, stranded far from home, in need of comfort and human contact, could have roped in any bimbo he wanted. The Barney who bought her three Christmas trees, though, he probably just missed his nephew and niece.

She stared down at the mistletoe still pinched between her fingers. If this were one of those cheesy Christmas movies, the mistletoe would be magic, too.


	11. Chapter 11

"Is everything okay?" Barney dropped a fistful of crumpled newspaper back into the box. He accepted the phone Robin extended to him and made a show of turning it off before he set it down on the coffee table. She still held the mistletoe. That had to be a good sign.

The corners of her mouth curved upward. "Looks like I'm going to need a plus one sometime in the not too distant future. Interested?" She twirled the mistletoe between her fingers.

"What, where, when, and most importantly, dress code?" Come on, black tie.

Robin's breath ruffled the hair around her face. "Ted's pretty good at proposals, so we'll probably get those details pretty soon. Tracy found a ring box in Ted's pocket. She thought it might be my ring. That's crazy, right? I mean, why would Ted be carrying my ring around when he's dating somebody else?"

"Maybe because he's been in love with you for almost an entire decade? I was there the night he met you. The man was smitten."

"Ted was never in love with me," Robin countered. "It's like you and Quinn. Real Ted and Real Robin never stood a chance. I was there when he met Tracy. In love trumps smitten."

Unless they both happen at the same time. Barney closed the flap on the box. They'd placed all the ornaments. "Are you okay with that? I mean, Tracy sounds cool and all, but you moved to Chicago with your fiancé, and then he meets some other girl and it's all over?"

Robin crossed her arm beneath her breasts and mock-glowered at him. "I'm the one who broke this one off. Trust me, you see the two of them together, you'll know. I'm fine. Really. So, can I lock in my date now and beat the rush?"

He shoved both hands deep into his pockets and scuffed one toe on the carpet. "Knowing Ted, he'll push for, what, June?" Six months from now, good sign for sure. Any other time, he'd have called up the calendar on his phone and blocked off the entire month right then, but he didn't want to chance any more interruptions. "Are we still going to be doing this in June?"

"Hope so." Robin laid the mistletoe on top of Barney's phone. "It really sucked not having you in my life, too. Ted was always so focused on making sure I was okay that it was driving me crazy. I couldn't breathe. I needed to not be okay for a while, and he didn't get that. When he met Tracy, the first thing I felt was relieved. They're so into each other, they can make Marshall and Lily look like strangers."

That, Barney was going to have to see. "Sounds gross."

Robin grimaced. "It is. Be my date? I am going to need somebody to get me through whatever gooey theme those two pick, because you know they're going to. Plus the whole wedding thing in general." She punctuated her statement with an exaggerated shudder.

If Tracy was anything like Ted, Barney could only imagine how their wedding would be. "Probably lame, with live doves and a unity candle. You think there'll be an open bar? That could save things." Barney rocked back on his heels and tipped his head back as he pretended to consider. "I dunno, though, six months is a long time away. If Ted actually proposes, and if Tracy says yes, which she may not do, because she sounds smart, you're still in Chicago and I'm still in New York. There's all the travel, and it is short notice to have a new tux fitted without a date or a dress code." The thin white line that formed between Robin's brows warned him to wrap things up. "Yeah. Okay. Yes. This way, I already know I'm going home with the hottest bridesmaid, and no, I do not need to know what Tracy's other friends look like first."

"Very mature of you." She favored him with a tilt of her lips.

Barney accepted the compliment with a single nod. "You have to be my date if my mom marries Sam, though." He held up a fist and waited for her to bump it. A jolt of electricity coursed up his arm from the tap of her knuckles against his. "Sam doesn't drink at all, though; I should probably mention that up front. Nah, Sam's cool. He's like James, only older and straight. You'll like him." A pause, then, "Weird to think about my mom maybe getting married."

Robin's expression softened. "Are you okay with that?"

She knew him too well. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be? I want her to be happy. After all the crappy boyfriends she had, she deserves a good guy. James gets to have his dad around, Eli and Sadie can know their grandpa, and, most importantly, you and I already took care of the worst part of wedding season; finding a date."

Robin flinched. "Wedding season? What are we, twenty?"

"Ugh, no, thank you. When I was twenty, I thought I was going to marry Shannon." He spat out the name. "Can you imagine the train wreck that would have been? She'd have been over me when the first baby wasn't fun anymore. I'd have ended up some lame single dad, who never would have set foot in MacLaren's. I never would have met you, and even if I had, you wouldn't have looked twice at me. Instead of decorating this awesome tree with you now, I'd be stuck with some moody pre-teen who's too big for toys, too young to drink and blames me for making mommy go away." He scrubbed one hand over his mouth. How the hell did they get from lining up six-months-from-now dates to that? He needed a distraction. Fast. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

Barney snatched his phone from the table. "Because you have to see the tree lit up for the first time, all by itself. I'm going to turn off the lights. Don't look until I tell you."

Robin placed a hand over her eyes. "You better not be pulling some prank."

"I'm not." He pulled the blackout drapes on the balcony, turned off all the other lights in the apartment, then navigated by the light of his phone to plug in the tree. "Now look."

Robin lowered her hand. Her breath caught.

Barney crossed to her with two quick steps and slipped his arm around her waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Red, yellow, blue and green lights blinked on and off, reflected from ornaments, tinsel and garland. The pink and white lights of the star, completely at odds with the rest of the color scheme, chased each other in an eternal circle. "What do you think?"

Robin rested her head on his shoulder. "Best tree ever. Best Christmas ever."

"That's what I'm here for." Barney dropped a kiss on Robin's hair. He wanted to do this with her again, next year and the next year and every Christmas after that, for the rest of his life. One, at least, for every light that glimmered in the darkened room, Christmases still ahead of them, complete with dogs, kids, memories shared and yet to be made.

Robin wrapped his tie around her hand and turned him to face her. "There's one more tradition we have to keep."

Barney swallowed. "What's that?"

"It's traditional to open one present on Christmas Eve. I know the one I want." Nimble fingers worked at the knot on his tie. Silk slid against silk until she pulled the tail free. She went for his collar button next and paused only a moment before she brushed her lips against his exposed throat.

Blood pounded in his ears. "I should fold the couch out. It's getting late. Big day tomorrow. Christmas."

Robin maneuvered the second button through its hole. "You don't need the couch tonight. You get to open one present, too." The third button slipped free. Her hand splayed against his chest, her touch a brand on his flesh. His body ignored all attempts at reason.

"Do I?" he asked on a low hum. He skimmed both hands under her sweater and the camisole beneath it. Heat from her skin seeped in through his palms to fire his blood. His fingers traveled up her spine, over soft skin to rest on the clasp of her bra.


	12. Chapter 12

Multicolored twinkling lights haloed Barney's shadowed form. Robin didn't need any more light than that, didn't want it. She already knew the way his face went all soft when he let his guard down, the way his eyes darkened with desire. The husky rasp of his voice echoed in her ears. "You do." Her own whisper was little more than a breath.

The bra clasp fell open beneath Barney's touch, straps sliding down Robin's shoulders beneath her sweater. The flat of his hand seared a path from the small of her back to the nape of her neck and back again, the rhythm a slow, but potent drug. If she'd let him unfold the couch, they'd have a bed right there. They'd never needed a bed, she reminded herself when he rested one hand on the curve of her hip. Couches were good. Bathrooms, too. Floor would be fine. Didn't matter where, as long as it was with him. Two more of his buttons slipped through her fingers.

They moved toward the bedroom together, a tangle of arms, legs, and discarded clothing. He paused for only a second to hit a switch on the wall as they ducked through the door. Full light flooded the room, then dimmed to a gentle glow. Robin fit her head into the plane of his shoulder. "No cameras."

"No cameras." Barney's voice echoed hers. "I just want to look at you. That okay?" His steps halted, waited on her answer.

Robin slid both hands down the smooth, warm plane of his chest. "Yeah." She wouldn't mind a good long look at him, either.

"Good." He took hold of the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Sweater and camisole dropped to the floor. "You're really here."

His hands hovered half a millimeter above the surface of her skin. It wasn't enough. Her arms snaked about his neck. His name escaped her throat in a groan of pure impatience. "Bar-ney."

"I'm not done looking."

"You can look at me anytime."

His gaze caressed her, as intimate as a physical touch. "Not like this, not when you're so far away. Chicago." His mouth turned down at the corners as he shaped the word, his lower lip thrust out.

Robin walked her fingers up into soft baby-chick hair, dried all fluffy from the snow. "I'm not far away now." Her breasts brushed against his chest as her lips glanced over his.

"You are not." He pulled the tie from first one braid and then the other, then unraveled them both. Shaking fingers spread her hair over bare shoulders and upper curve of her breasts before he lifted one lock away from the rest. He dipped his head and breathed in, eyes closed, face awash in pure bliss. "You're here."

"Barney." A whimper this time. She'd gone past wanting him. Now it was need. She hooked both thumbs through his belt loops and cast a pointed look toward his bed. Her hips steered his steps backward, her fingers already working the clasp of his belt.

A low laugh rumbled from his throat. "Okay. Hold that thought. Li'l Barney has to suit up first." He pulled back from her and tilted his head toward his nightstand. Robin lay back on the duvet, her eyes closed. Her pulse raced as she wriggled out of her remaining clothing. This was happening. One more point for the magic Christmas tree.

Her ears pricked at the familiar crinkle of a foil packet. Her eyes flew open at the sound of a second crinkle. A third crinkle set all her senses on alert. Barney's oath echoed off the walls the same time the cardboard box thudded against the full length mirror in the far corner. Shredded foil and latex spilled from the crumpled box.

The bed dipped with the added weight as Barney sat on the edge of the mattress and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Robin plucked the heart-shaped neon pink sticky note from his fingers.

Have fun, asshole. XOXO, Quinn. Two dots and slashes had turned the Q into a menacing smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Two more slashes transformed the O's into 'no' symbols, all in glittery pink ink.

Robin muttered her own oath. She crumpled the note and hurled it after the box, then draped her arms about Barney from behind. "It's okay," she whispered. "You don't need one. We're good." She covered his hands with her own. The skin about his eyes was damp to her touch. I can't get pregnant. The words perched on the edge of her tongue, but went no further. She lowered his hands and turned his face toward hers.

His forehead creased. Blue eyes shone too bright. "Why would she do that? I know she hated me by the end, but I never cheated on her. Never."

Robin cupped his face in her hands. "I know." Once there was a ring on this man's finger, he'd never look back. She fought back the urge to hunt Quinn down and shove the woman's nose into her brain. Barney needed her here. "Don't let her get to you. We're safe."

"I don't want to put you thought what happened last time." He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. "I still remember how scared you were. Also how hard you hit." One corner of his mouth twitched.

"I won't have any reason to punch you. I promise."

Barney's thumb traced along the curve of her cheek. "Are you on the pill or something?" His mouth followed the path his thumb had blazed.

Or something. "Mmhm." He didn't press any further, only wrapped his hand in her hair and tilted her head. One kiss, deep and ardent, and she found herself alone on the bed once again. "Barney. I want this. We're safe. Trust me."

Barney bent to retrieve his belt from the floor. "I do trust you. Just making sure. I'll be right back."

"It's a blizzard out there."

"Yeah. I know. I'm only going to the bodega. I'm coming right back." He retrieved his shirt from the hallway and shrugged it back on.

Robin propped herself on one elbow, to better enjoy the show as he did up his buttons and aligned them with the clasp of his belt. Watching Barney put on clothes was almost as good as watching him take them off. Almost. He picked up a squat, silvery jar from the dresser and unscrewed the cap. Robin inhaled a whiff of wintergreen. She knew that scent too well, and not only from Barney's arsenal. "No hair gunk."

Barney's reflection scowled. "This is not gunk. It's pomade. I'm all puffy." His voice edged dangerously close to a whine on the last word.

"It's sticky, and it smells like mouthwash. Who are you trying to impress, me or the bodega guy? Wear a toque."

He dipped two fingers into the jar and deposited a dab of yellowish wax in the palm of his other hand, then rubbed both hands together. "We call them 'hats' here in America." He glanced down at his hands, then back at Robin. "Really no pomade, though?"

"Nobody in the history of the world has used the word 'pomade' immediately prior to a successful sexual encounter. Besides, you're not the only guy I know who uses that stuff."

Ted. Neither of them had to actually speak the name for Barney to understand. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the black lacquer box beneath the mirror and swiped both hands clean, then dropped the tissues into the trash with a flourish. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

Robin rolled from the bed, turned back the duvet and slipped beneath it. "Good enough?"

"Good enough." He sealed his approval with a quick graze of his mouth on hers on his way out the door. A moment later, two doors opened, then closed. Closet first, then front door.

What an idiot. Robin picked up the remote from the nightstand and switched the giant screen on, then navigated to the yule log channel. She stayed like that, flannel sheets pulled up to her chin, for precisely one half of one instrumental Christmas carol that must have been written at the very first Christmas, then flung back the covers. Barney was not coming back to that box of shredded condoms.

She threw on the robe, charcoal gray silk, that hung on the back of the bathroom door, then dumped the box and its content into the metal wastebasket. It took a lot longer than she would have liked to pick up the scattered pieces of shredded foil and latex, but she wasn't going to leave a single one for Barney to find. Not while she was here, and not after her flight left. He deserved better than that. She made up for lost time by propping the front door open with the umbrella stand and raced down the hall to the trash chute.

Robin's quick goalie reflexes saved the trash can from following its contents down the chute. She made it back to Barney's door with seconds to spare before the lights of the elevator announced his ascent from the lobby. She whipped off the robe the second the front door closed behind her, then sprinted back to the bedroom. Adrenaline surged through Robin at the sound of Barney's key in the lock. No time to hang the robe back in place, if he was in the living room already. Instead, she draped it over the foot of the bed and dove back beneath the covers, two heartbeats before Barney called her name.

His form, tall and lean, filled the bedroom doorway, a large brown paper sack clutched in one arm. His pant legs were wet to the knee. "Mission accomplished."

Robin stared at the bag. That thing could have held a week's worth of groceries. "How many condoms did you get?"

Barney's brows drew together, his nose wrinkled in a look of pure disdain. "I didn't want it to look like I ran out in the middle of a blizzard just to buy condoms on Christmas Eve."

"But you did run out in the middle of a blizzard just to buy condoms on Christmas Eve."

He held up one finger in friendly rebuke. "No. As far as Angel," he pronounced it the Spanish way, ahn-hel. Still counts. "at the bodega is concerned, I was picking up a few odds and ends for a lovely holiday celebration. The condoms were an afterthought. There's orange juice, a flashlight, black and white cookies, two roast turkey sandwiches, bacon flavored potato chips, bottled water, a Korean newspaper, protein bars, a novena candle-" He removed each item as he named it and set them on the available space on top of the dresser. It took some arranging to make things fit.

"Did he even buy condoms?"

Barney peered into the nearly-empty bag. "Damn. I'll be right back." He started for the door, then whirled around, his grin wide. "Just kidding." He removed the box from the bag and held it up for Robin's inspection. "Still up for this?"

"Easy to see you are," she answered with a pointed glance below his belt. "Suit up Li'l Barney and get in here." She folded back the duvet on the empty side of the bed.

His smile went supernova. "Yes, ma'am." He wasted no time in following her command. There was no world outside the shelter of flannel, duvet and pillows, snow still falling outside. All that mattered was the way they fell into each other, skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, until there were no longer two of them, but the one new thing they became when they were together.

Afterward, she lay on her side, lashes half-lowered to allow her a partial view of the yule log on the giant screen. Barney spooned around her, his arms her fortress. "Is it awkward," she asked, snuggling into his embrace, "that this isn't awkward?"

He hesitated only a moment before he answered. "I don't know. I do know that this is probably not the most traditional way to celebrate the birth of Christ."

She couldn't argue with that. "We never were traditional, though, were we?"

"Not even close. Maybe," he paused there, to stroke one hand over her hip. "We should make new traditions? Same time next year?"

A thousand answers crowded for space on the tip of her tongue. It's too soon. It's been too long. It's too late. They'd already tried and failed. They needed more time. Anything could happen in a year. She couldn't give voice to any of them. Instead, she turned in his arms and held his face in both hands. "New is always better."

There were no words at all after that. She fell asleep an hour later, and dreamed of falling snow.


	13. Chapter 13

Christmas morning. They'd made it to Christmas morning. This bed, his own, not a strange hotel room's, still smelled like sex. Sex with Robin, he corrected himself with a leisurely stretch. There was a difference. His arm collided with the pillow on the other side of the bed. Only the pillow, not Robin. His senses snapped to full alert. The sheets still held traces of Robin's body heat. He listened for the sounds of another body clattering around the bathroom. The pounding of water in the shower, the clatter of bottles, the way she hummed to herself while she went through her morning routine. Nothing. He swung both legs over the side of the bed. "Robin?" Her name croaked from between dry lips.

"Out here." Breath whooshed from Barney's lungs at the sound of Robin's voice. Living room; of course she was in the living room. He tamped down his panic with a forced laugh. Her bags still stood as evidence, in their place by the door. She hadn't left, hadn't left him. Even in the morning light, the blinking lights of the tree beckoned him down the hallway. He took two steps, then cringed at his reflection. He couldn't go out there like this. Morning hair was one of the big reasons he'd trained himself to always get up before his partners. "You okay in there?"

His reflection startled at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, I'm fine. Be right there." But not naked. Unless she was naked, which would be awesome, though not likely on Christmas morning. He turned the novena candle on his dresser around, on his way to the bathroom, so the Virgin Mary wasn't looking at him anymore. How did novena candles work, anyway? He turned the question over in his mind while he brushed his teeth.

He was pretty sure novena candles were a Catholic thing, and he wasn't sure he knew anybody Catholic. Best guess, it was maybe like birthday candles. Light the candle, make a wish, or prayer in this case. As long as it was something worth praying for, probably. Like Robin. He'd pray for Robin, if he knew how; if he was even allowed to try. Please. That was all he could manage for now. Two rinses of mouthwash, to be double-sure, and back to the bedroom to yank sweatpants and t-shirt from his bottom drawer.

He shook out the t-shirt to check the logo. Metro News One. Okay. That would take care of the naked problem, but it was still Christmas. Robin needed a gift. He needed to give her one. He could make an excuse, run to the bodega again, or – his glance flew to the closet door – try something closer at hand. Top shelf, far left corner, already wrapped, already tagged with her name and his. She'd never see this coming. Before he knew it, his hand turned the knob on the closet door, reached to the top shelf, past folded sweaters and boxes that held starched and folded shirts. Only a small stretch, and he took down the gift he'd never had the chance to give her.

Should he? Shouldn't he? He weighed the box in his hands. Fingered the silver trimmed white velvet ribbon. Put it back. Closed the door. Put on sweatpants. Open door again. Stopped short of retrieving the box. Dropped the t-shirt over his head instead. He reached for the box one more time. It's Christmas. Go big or go home. No, he corrected himself, go big or she'll go home. He closed the door and returned to the mirror to face his reflection again. He poked at his hair with his fingers. No pomade, he reminded himself when he would have reached for it. Robin didn't like pomade; it was sticky and smelled like mouthwash. He dropped the pomade tin in the trash can, splashed on the barest hint of cologne –she'd moved the bottle, he noted- and headed out to the living room, box held behind his back, in case bringing a present would be stupid. "Morning. What are you doing there?"

Robin broke into a wide smile and shoved a square box, wrapped in newspaper, under the tree. "Morning." The sight of her, backlit by the twinkling lights of the tree, burned into his soul. Big red poinsettias bloomed over white flannel pajamas. Damp wisps of hair escaped her ponytail, to call his attention to a face scrubbed free of makeup, eyes alight with mischief. She sat back on her heels. "I am putting your present under the tree."

Okay, bringing a present wasn't stupid. He allowed himself to relax by the smallest degree. "You didn't go out in the snow to get me that, did you?"

"No, loser. I picked up something in the gift shop in the Chicago airport in case Katie brought a friend and I ended up a gift short." She punctuated her answer with a shrug. "Looks like I did."

"You really didn't have to get me anything." Her presence was enough, he wanted to add, but that would sound lame.

Robin's lower lip plumped. "You're only saying that because you didn't get me anything."

He took that as his cue. "No. No, I did not not-get her anything." He produced the box from behind his back with a flourish and allowed himself to take in her gasp of surprise. "I got this for you back before everything went weird between us. I was going to give it to you that Christmas, but by then," he bit his tongue to cut off the next words.

"I was engaged to Kevin," she finished for him. Indecision flickered across her face for only a second before she picked up the present she'd put under the tree. "Trade?"

"Deal." Barney handed over her present and settled on the floor next to her, cross-legged. "You first."

Almost-dry wisps of hair fluttered when she shook her head. "This is too pretty to open."

He nudged her with his elbow. "Opening it is the whole point. Open it."

Her fingers traced the embossed silver snowflakes scattered over the dark blue paper. "I can't tear this. I have to find a way in first. Can I turn it over?"

"It's yours. You can do anything you want."

Robin untied the white velvet bow and set the ribbon aside. She turned the box over, then worried her bottom lip with her teeth at the sound of something shifting inside the box. "Russian nesting dolls?"

"You wish." That would be a great idea, though. Robin Scherbatsky nesting dolls, Present Robin on the outside, leading to Robin in the green turtleneck she's worn that first night at MacLaren's, then Robin Daggers, Robin Sparkles, RJ, down to a tiny Baby Robin, in maple leaf onesie as the very last one, no bigger than her own thumb. He'd have to find a Russian nesting doll guy. He could get her that next year. He bumped her knee with his. "Open it."

"I can't believe you held onto my present all this time. Who even does that?"

"Um, me, because I am awesome. I couldn't have given it to anybody else. You'll see. This could only ever be yours."

Robin's nail traced a line along the seam of the paper. "Can I use your letter opener?"

"Sure."

In a flash, her bare feet carried her to the small table by the front door, and back again, silver letter opener now in her hand. She slid it under the edge of the paper in one long, clean slice. The paper fell away, exposing the box beneath it, glossy and royal blue. She lifted off the top and peeled aside silver tissue paper. Her breath caught. "No. You did not get me this. You did not."

"I most certainly did. Open it."

She tipped the box toward him. "It is open, dork."

He planted one hand on his knee to keep his leg from bouncing. "No, open it. Open what's inside."

Robin's hands trembled. She lifted the pale pink leather jewelry box from its tissue paper nest. One fingertip traced with reverent care along the embossed gold filigree around the edges of the lid. She flicked the delicate gold lock with one nail, up and back down again. "How did you know? How did you even find this?"

"You told me, remember? You wanted one of these when you were twelve, but your dad wouldn't let you have one." Because pink jewelry boxes were for girls, and Robin couldn't be a girl, not with her jerk of a dad, who'd stripped every inch of femininity from her. Barney gave Robin Senior a mental middle finger. She has that jewelry box now, and Barney had been the one to give it to her, not Robin Senior. "As for where I got it, a magician never gives up his secrets. Look inside."

She shook her head. "I don't have to. It's perfect."

"No, really, open the lid. If you don't, I will." He reached for the impossibly tiny gold key that dangled from a white ribbon loop on the clasp of the box.

She stilled his hand with her own and untied the ribbon, then fit the key into the lock with an audible click. She lifted the lid. Instead of 'Claire de Lune,' it was 'Sandcastles in the Sand' that tinkled out from the music box, while a miniature Robin Sparkles, complete with teased blonde hair and the world's smallest grafitti jacket over her tutu pirouetted to the tune. Robin's mouth dropped open. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the box, then Barney and back again. "When did you do this? How did you do this?"

Barney ducked his gaze and scratched behind one ear before he could bring himself to look at her. Heat surged to his face. His reflection in a shiny silver ornament showed his ears had gone as red as a mountie's coat. "Does it matter?"

"This is…" she swallowed. Tears glistened in her eyes. She runs her fingers over the nap of the rose-colored velour lining. "It even has the secret compartment." She pinched the tiny ribbon loop on the edge of a hidden flap.

Adrenaline flooded his veins. "Don't open that."

Her brows pinched in confusion. "Why not?"

He couldn't tell her why not. He'd have to bluff. "Because." Good start, now fill in the blank with something. Anything. "It's, um, defective. I forgot the lining is loose. I'll have it fixed and get it right back to… oh shit." Words failed him. She'd lifted the flap while he babbled. He closed his eyes. Breath sagged out of him, hopefully for the last time. Worst. Christmas. Ever.

"Oh my God. Barney." He didn't have to see her lift the diamond solitaire from its box. He could hear it, the whisper of platinum pulled free of cardboard and velvet.

He opened his eyes, his suspicions confirmed. "That doesn't have to mean, um, what it, um, meant when I, um, put it there. I forgot. You should, too." She had it in her hand now. The lights from the tree bathed the diamond in rainbows. "You can have it reset if you want, or sell it. Whatever you want. It's yours. I want you to have it."

Robin stared at the ring in disbelief, not even a single blink. Why wasn't she blinking? Blinking would be normal.

Blink, he willed to her. It didn't work. Blue eyes remained wide open, and fixed on him.

"Were you going to propose to me the night you broke up with Nora?"

The instinct to lie rose within him, then subsided. He could play this off as a joke, but she wouldn't buy it. Robin knew him too well. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth before he could answer. Bristles abraded his palm. "Yes."

"Barney." Color drained from her face. His name hung in the air between them, and, for a moment, he was back there in her old bedroom, blowing out candles and stuffing rose petals back in a bag. Stupid of him then to set up such a scene. Stupid of him now to admit that he ever had.

Robin set the pink leather box back in its tissue and pushed it under the tree. She scooted forward, shifted to her knees and stared at him for a long moment. Before he knew what was happening, her mouth was on his, taking his breath, giving him life. Too soon, she sat back.

Kevin's name hammered at the back of his teeth. KevinKevinKevinKevin. Why did you pick Kevin?

All color drained from Robin's face. Her lower lip trembled. Her knuckles went white. He hadn't thought that last part. He'd said it.

"Shit. Sorry. Forget I said anything. Do you want waffles? I can make waffles. Not the frozen kind, either, if that makes a difference."

"Barney." Just his name. She said too much with just his name. Waffles were not going to help him now. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Barney swallowed, his throat tight. "Yeah. I do."

She pressed her lips together, too quiet for too long. He tracked the way she ran the white velvet ribbon through her fingers, her attention on the ribbon, not on him. "I'm not a cheater. I never cheated on anybody before I cheated with you, especially not with somebody like Kevin, somebody who's…" her voice trailed into silence. "Please don't make me say it."

"I'm sorry, but I really do have to know." A phantom Kevin perched on the seat behind Robin, then vanished. "What did Kevin do that I didn't?"

Robin's lashes spiked with tears. "Nothing. I was going to break up with Kevin. I really was, but we were in the emergency room. Who breaks up with somebody in the emergency room?" She covered her face with both hands. "He said that because something needed to be said didn't mean it needed to be heard."

Barney's lip curled. "That means he knew what you were going to say and he didn't want to hear it. He played you."

Robin's hands clenched into fists. "He did, didn't he? Jerk." The ring tumbled to the carpet. She picked it up and held it out to Barney. "You have to take this back."


	14. Chapter 14

"No. I'm not taking it back."

"You have to."

"I do not." Barney folded his arms across his chest, hands tucked away.

Robin brandished the ring, stone up, her arm fully extended. "This is an engagement ring."

Barney returned her grave look with one of his own. "That is what the jeweler told me when I bought it."

"But we're not engaged. We cannot be engaged. I brought another man to our-" she broke off there. She'd brought Kevin to their what? Their date? Meeting? Assignation? She didn't know the word for what she and Barney would have done that night if she hadn't let him down. "I brought Kevin to our bar. You broke up with Nora and I chickened out." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I broke your heart. I don't deserve this."

"You deserve everything." His voice came in a whisper so serious she had to look away.

Christmas lights reflected off metal and stone. She didn't. She really didn't. Damn, that was a nice ring. She fortified herself with a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. "I can't keep this ring. We haven't seen each other in a year and a half. We're different people now. You cook. You have a plant. How do you know I haven't taken up some weird hobby, like roller derby, or turned into a rabid Cubs fan?"

He held up one hand, palm out, to stop her. "First, you would totally kill at Roller Derby. I would be there to cheer you on every single time. Second, are you a rabid Cubs fan? Because that would be a dealbreaker."

She shook her head. "Of course I'm not, you dork. That's not the point. What if we've both changed too much, and the only reason things are this good between us now is because it's Christmas and we're snowed in, away from the rest of the world? How do we go from thinking we were each married to other people to," she waved the ring, her throat too thick to form any more words. "I can't be engaged three times in two years."

The creases on each side of his mouth deepened. "Okay. You're right, we do need to get to know each other again. I'm not proposing right now. You do not have to wear the ring. I mean, you can, if you want to." He scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck. "When you're ready. That would be cool. You decide. Whatever. The point is, I am not taking the ring back, so you are going to have to deal with that, because I still have my present to open." He reached past her and grabbed the newspaper-wrapped box beneath the cardboard reindeer that dangled from a low hanging branch.

Robin tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. "Leave it. Please."

"Nothing doing. It's Christmas morning, that present is under the tree, therefore it is mine. No takebacks."

"I can't give you that, when you gave me this." She gestured to the jewelry box with the hand that still held the ring. "These."

Barney ripped a wide swath of newspaper from the box. His eyes glittered with anticipation. "Plain brown cardboard. Very promising. You have not lost your touch." One fingernail slid along the scrap of cellophane tape that held the flap of the box closed.

It didn't even matter to him that the present was an afterthought. He still tore into the wrapping like a little kid who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the toy he'd begged for all year was in there. "Yes, I have. This is a stupid present. The only reason I even bought that was in case there might be an extra guest."

"And there is. It all worked out. Tissue paper and bubble wrap, very fancy." He pulled the tissue from the box in handfuls and unwound the bubble wrap. "We are popping every single one of these bubbles later, just so you know." He set the bubble wrap aside and pinched one bubble between thumb and forefinger before he returned to the actual box. "Oh my God, is this a snow globe?" He tore the last scrap of tissue away and lifted the globe from the box. White plastic flakes drifted down over the Chicago skyline as he gave it a shake. "Look at that stuff fall."

"Lame,I know. I can be back from the bodega with something better before you're even out of the shower." She dropped the ring into the pocket of her pajama top and scrambled to her feet.

A quick tug at the leg of her pajama pants coaxed her back down. "Not so fast there. What could be better than an awesome snow globe that plays, let's see," he turned the key on the bottom of the base. The tinny notes tinkled to life. Barney laughed, rich and full. "'Hard To Say I'm Sorry?' Okay, that makes it official. Best present ever."

A song by Chicago, not about Chicago. Robin groaned. "I had no idea that was the song it played."

He turned the globe, his mouth curved in pure delight. "Doesn't matter. Still perfect." A glob of artificial snow perched on top of the Lake Point Tower. "This is going right on my desk; all year, too, not just Christmas. I want to be reminded of my awesome girlfriend in Chicago every chance I get until I can see her again." His forehead creased. He turned questioning eyes on Robin. "Um, that is if I have a girlfriend in Chicago. Do I? Because none of that other stuff makes any sense otherwise."

Robin twirled the end of her ponytail. His girlfriend. It could be that easy. Maybe not any other time of year, but here, beneath the tree with its twinkling lights and snow still falling outside, with snow globes and jewelry boxes and his ring in her pocket -even if that was only because he wouldn't take it back- the thought of giving a name to what they had between them didn't scare her at all. "Yeah. You do. Funny how that works. My boyfriend lives in New York. You really want to do long distance?"

"Yeah, to start, sure, but what if it didn't stay long distance? What if we both lived in the same city? That worked pretty well before."

Before didn't belong in this magical Christmas bubble they'd created. Before had real life and broken engagements and jobs that wanted all of their time. "Do we have to have this conversation now? I'm under contract. I can't just pick up and leave because my boyfriend wants me to live in the same province. City. Same city. I'm not sixteen. See, we've just defined the relationship and we're already fighting."

Barney's hands cupped the wooden base of the snow globe. "If you were sixteen, I would be in a whole world of trouble for what we did last night." His grin flashed, then faded at her lack of response. "We're not fighting." His voice came softer this time. "I never said you had to be the one who moves. I'll come to you."

Robin blinked. "You want to move to Chicago?"

The cluster of plastic snow fell from its perch. "I want to be where you are. If you need to stay in Chicago,

I can start flying in on weekends, get a feel for the area, maybe scout out the job market. Transferring to the Chicago office of GNB would be easiest, but that would only work if they have an opening at my level."

A shiver of anticipation danced along Robin's spine. "You're serious."

Barney glanced down at the globe and then back at her. "I am. If this is what it takes to give us a fighting chance, then that's what I'm going to do. First and most important question: do you have a Chicago bar?"

"There are lots of bars."

"But do you have a regular bar, like MacLaren's?" The light of an idea sparked behind his eyes. "We are totally going to MacLaren's before you leave. You have to promise we hit MacLaren's at least once every time we're in New York."

There weren't any bars like MacLaren's, couldn't ever be, because there weren't any other bars where she could see him for the first time. "If we see anybody in our booth, no matter who, we kick them out."

"That's the spirit. First order of business for my first visit, we find our bar."

Their bar. She liked the sound of that. They'd have their bar, their park, their deli, their coffee shop, their supermarket. Maybe their vet. He'd look hot with a leash in one hand, pooper scooper in the other. She pulled at he hem of her pajama top, then smoothed it down. The flannel stuck to her heated skin. "Only one problem with that. My apartment only has one bedroom."

Barney set the snow globe aside and scooted close enough to drape an arm about her shoulder. "I do not see that as a problem. Stubble rasped against the sensitive skin of her cheek.

"Not like that. I mean there's no room for your suits." He'd want to bring the suits. She wanted him to bring the suits. The suits and the giant screens and all his crazy gadgets. She leaned her head against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her ear. Chicago would never know what hit it.

"Good point. Option one, I could get my own place."

She shot that down with a loud buzzing sound that needed no further explanation.

His laugh echoed off the walls as he draped both arms around her and drew her into his lap. "Okay, I stay with you and the suits get their own place. They'll be confused at first, but they'll understand. Maybe you could throw a few of your dresses in there to keep them company. Maybe pipe in a little R&B to make sure they have a good time." He rocked her back and forth. The tune he hummed surged through her blood. "Maybe open a good scotch and dim the lights. Or we could look for a new apartment together. Maybe a house, but still throw a few dresses in with the suits once in a while?"

"Are you trying to breed our clothes?"

"Nah, they're all in garment bags. We won't have any surprises, unless we want some. They only breed when we want them to breed. I'm thinking the charcoal Dolce and Gabbana three piece with that red dress with the plunging neckline and handkerchief hem. Do you still have that one? Did you pack it?"

Only Barney would suit up his suits. Only Barney would even think of breeding their clothes. "What kind of babies would a suit and a dress have?" Tiny suits, the sharp pain that sliced her heart told her. Tiny dresses. Tiny mini-thems who could never be. She swallowed, hard, and willed the pain to be silent.

He pulled the elastic from her ponytail and combed through her hair with his fingers. "I don't know. Guess we're going to have to find out." He placed both thumbs on her temples and sectioned off a handful of hair, then repeated the action twice more on either side. "Only question there is, how are we going to raise them; deep dish or thin crust?" His fingers wove through her hair with effortless ease.

She stiffened in his arms. "It doesn't matter."

"I get where you're going with this. We feed them both and let them decide when they're big enough to place their own order." His touch tugged on her scalp with gentle pressure. "God, I hope the girls get your hair. Mine was a bitch to braid, but that might have been because I could never get my hands in the right—"

She wrenched herself away from him. The image of him, a little girl in his lap, his hands in her hair, was too much. "I can't have kids."


	15. Chapter 15

"—position behind my head so I couldn't see what I—" Barney tried to stem the flood of words on his tongue, but time had slowed. His hands still moved hair that wasn't there, over and under, over and under. Robin's or his own, he couldn't remember. Robin stood over him. Red splotches bloomed on her cheeks. Her hands fisted at her sides. Her jaw clenched. His hands dropped to his lap.

"Did you even hear what I said?" Her pulse fluttered in her throat.

Barney hauled himself to his feet. He fought to bridge the chasm between thought and speech. Forget Christmas. Forget snow. She'd still bolt if he said the wrong thing. His first instinct was to throw his arms around her and hold her so tight he could keep everything bad in the world from finding her, ever. His second instinct told him that was the worst thing he could possibly do. He took one step forward. "Are you okay?"

She darted out one hand, lightning fast, and snatched the remote from the coffee table, then flung it at the door. Black plastic shattered against wood and frosted glass. "I'm fine. I'm not sick. I'm not dying. My body can't make babies, that's all." Her face compressed. She dropped her head into her hands and drew in a ragged breath before she could face him again. "Sorry about your remote."

He didn't hesitate this time, but swaddled her in the circle of his arms and guided her head to rest on his shoulder. "I don't care about the remote. I care about you. I love you." He buried his face in her hair. His shampoo definitely smelled better on her. "Did you want to tell me more about what you said back there?"

"No." Robin nestled against him. A warm wetness dampened his shirt. "Later, okay? I'm tired of talking about doctors. I'm tired of talking to doctors. I'm tired of plans and options and medical jargon. There are things that can be done," she paused there, long enough to shift within and look him in the eye, "but I don't want to do them."

Silence filled the room as he let her words sink in. Not sick, not dying; those were good things. Relief slackened his tense muscles. "Later is good." His phone rang from the charger by the door.

Robin disentangled herself from his hold. "You should get that."

"No."

"What if it's your mother? Are you really going to ignore your mother on Christmas?" Panic rose in her voice.

Barney swallowed. Robin's eyes had that wild look about them, so wide that he could almost see the wheels in her brain turning at top speed. "She'll call back."

"I need a minute, okay?" She glanced back at the kitchen. "I need to make coffee. Make breakfast. Please. I have to do something. I can't look at you and think right now. Please." She didn't wait for his response, but turned for the kitchen, her long hair dark against the red and white of her pajamas.

God, I hope the girls get your hair. If he hadn't said those words, she'd be okay now. They'd still be on the floor, talking about Chicago. She'd still be happy. Without another word, he crossed to the charger and picked up the phone. "Go for Barney."

"Wuv-wuv! Is that how you greet your mother on Christmas morning?"

Barney scratched at the bristles along his jaw. Robin stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on her hips, her gaze unfocused. "Mom, I really can't talk right now." He covered the phone with his hand and whispered Robin's name, then pointed her toward the coffeemaker.

"Oh. You're still in China, aren't you? Are you in a meeting?"

Robin took two mugs from the cabinet above the coffeemaker and set them on the counter. She wouldn't look at him, her concentration solely on the task before her. "Yes. I am in a very important meeting."

"Tell them you need a few minutes." His mother's voice trembled with excitement.

"I don't have a few minutes." He barked the words, harsh and sharp. Robin whirled to stare at him, her nostrils flared. "Sorry. I'm going to have to take this," he announced to his nonexistent colleagues, then repeated the phrase in Mandarin, for good measure. Playing his own mother, that was a new low. "What's going on?"

His mother's voice prickled. "Would it kill you to check your email? I tried to reach you about a million times last night. What do they have you doing over there?"

The cabinet door opened and closed. Robin withdrew three foil bags, opened each one and sniffed it in turn, before she put all but the first one back.

Barney's throat tightened. "You know I can't talk about that." Computerized laser fire sounded in the background. Eli's and James's voices tumbled over each other in good natured trash talk. Other voices Barney didn't know, Sam's family, he assumed, faded in and out. A burst of laughter gave way to quiet conversation.

"I know that, but I worry. You should be with family at Christmas. Will you check your damned email already? I'll wait."

Pyrex clattered against carafe dropped into the sink. Robin bit off a curse and retrieved it, then turned the water on. She jerked her hand back. She'd turned on hot water instead of cold. I am with family. The words perched on the tip of his tongue. "Okay, but then I really have to go. "Which email? You sent a ton." He scrolled through his in box. "So did James. And Tom. Even Eli. Is everybody okay?"

His mother gave an annoyed huff, then, "The subject line is 'open this now,' in all caps. How did you miss that? If you keep overworking yourself like this, you are going to die old and alone. That is not what I want for my wuv-wuv. Open the damned email."

Robin scooped coffee grounds into the coffeemaker, the rote actions taking the nervous buzz from her movements. Old and alone was not going to be one of his problems.

He opened the email. There were no words, only a picture. His mother's hand rested in Sam's upturned palm, a pear shaped diamond sparkling on her ring finger. He coughed to get Robin's attention, then tilted the screen so she could see. She flashed two thumbs up, her smile genuine. He put the phone back to his ear. "Awesome. Congratulations. Have you set a date yet?"

"Valentine's Day." His mother's voice bubbled with excitement. "I know, cliche, but Sam and I aren't getting any younger. You have to get the day off. I want you as my man of honor."

Barney blinked. "What?"

"My man of honor. James is going to be Sam's best man, so I want you to stand up for me."

"Don't you want Rhonda?"

She answered with a short laugh. "Please, Rhonda French in a church?"

"Rhonda is not going to miss your wedding."

"All right, she can be a bridesmaid, but I still want you as my man of honor. It's for the bride."

He couldn't argue with that. "Okay." He motioned for Robin to bring pen and paper from the magnetic holder on the refrigerator door, then voiced the request in Mandarin, for good measure.

Robin grabbed both items and lay them on the counter.

Barney dropped a kiss on her lips and thanked her in Mandarin. He had to remind himself to switch to English. "Where and what time?"

"Sam's church, February 14th. The ceremony starts at 6PM, reception in the fellowship hall afterwards. We have to catch a train at ten, so everything has to run like clockwork. When are you getting back? There's so much to do, I can't even think straight. Sam wants me to wear white, if you can believe that. I can't talk him out of it."

"Mom. Relax." He summoned the same tone of voice that could settle any boardroom squabble. "Man of Honor has this, okay? I think Sam is right. You look gorgeous in white. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll work everything out." Robin opened the refrigerator and took out their sandwiches from the night before. She gestured toward the stove. He nodded. "They really need me back in there." His finger hovered over the screen.

A high pitched voice called his name with plaintive urgency. "Here, Sadie wants to say hello."

Barney grimaced. Once Sadie was on the phone, getting her off it would take nothing short of a miracle. "No, I can't. Really. Don't put Sadie on," he begged, but it was too late. The phone clattered as his mother handed the phone off to Sadie. "Heeey, Hurricane. How's my girl?"

"Santa came!" Sadie screeched the news. "Thank you for my princess dress. Papa took a picture and I drew a picture with my crayons. Papa sent them on the phone."

"I am very glad you like your dress. Thank you for the pictures."

Sadie hiccuped. "Eli likes his watch, too. It says it's the same time in China, but at night."

"Yes, it is nighttime in China."

Sadie let out a long sigh, then, "China is far away. I miss you."

"I miss you, too. I'll play with you when I get back, okay? Remember what Daddy and Papa said about only calling me at work when it's an emergency?"

Robin peeled both sandwiches out of their waxed paper and rewrapped them in tin foil.

"Grandma called you," Sadie reminded him. "Was that an emergency?"

"Grandma was really really happy. That's a good emergency. Give everybody a hug and a kiss for me. I have to go now. Tell Daddy and Papa I said you could have an extra cookie for me."

"Okay." The connection cut off without another word.

Robin filled a mug with steaming coffee and slid it across the counter to Barney. "I am impressed. Not only did you lie to your mother and a three year old, but you authorized extra sugar for somebody else's child."

"It was for a good cause." Heat from the mug seeped through his palms. He took a tentative sip. "Sumatra. Good choice. Give the sandwiches about twenty minutes at four twenty-five. Preheat first."

Robin turned the dial on the stove. "So, your mom is engaged." She leaned back, both hands braced against the counter. "That's great."

"Yeah. They're not waiting for June, though. The wedding is Valentine's Day. I know it's short notice, but you already said you'd come, so you have to be there. I'm going to be man of honor."

Her brows flashed. "Does that mean that instead of sleeping with the hot bridesmaid, you're going to be the hot bridesmaid? Or do you have to feel yourself up in the reception hall bathroom?"

"Fellowship hall; the wedding is at Sam's church. If you don't come, I have to spend the whole day with Rhonda French."

"Hm. Being in the same wedding party as your mother's friend, who took your virginity after she slept with your gay brother; I can see where that might be a little uncomfortable." She held up two fingers, half an inch apart. "Almost as awkward as me asking my boss, who is also my ex-boyfriend, if I can have the day off to go to my new boyfriend's mother's wedding. By the way, does your mother know about Rhonda and both of her sons?"

That, Barney did not care to examine. "Some questions are better left unanswered. As long as the reception really is dry, there's a chance it won't come up." He turned the mug in his hands and started at the bubbles that ringed the surface of the dark liquid. "Look, what I said earlier, about girls—"

Robin didn't let him finish. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"Why didn't you tell me?"


	16. Chapter 16

"How am I even supposed to answer that?"

"Honestly, I'd hope." Barney answered without so much as a trace of humor.

Robin forced herself to look away from the raw expectation in his eyes, away from the rumpled hair and morning stubble, the pull of the heather gray WWN t-shirt across the expanse of his chest. Her gaze settled on his hands, wrapped around the gray ceramic of his mug, vapor rising in white wisps. That wasn't any better. "It wasn't the right time. Kevin. Quinn. Ted," she added, unable to keep the note of desperation out of her voice.

His jaw shifted, mouth pressed tight, before he set the mug down on the counter with an audible clunk. "Okay." His voice came deeper now, resonant, firm. He smoothed down his hair and tugged on the hem of his shirt. His posture went ramrod straight, emphasizing not only height but the breadth of his shoulders. "The first rule of corporate conflict resolution—"

Her ears pricked. That wasn't his everyday voice, the one he used with the gang, with her. That voice straddled the line between accessibility and dominance. That voice commanded attention. She'd heard it before, never in a room with only the two of them, but on one side of countless phone conversations before a few curt words ended whatever argument was on the other end of the line. She eased over the oven door and slipped the foil wrapped sandwiches inside, then set the timer. "What does corporate conflict resolution have to do with—" she stopped herself there. Her pulse skipped as she shut the oven door. "Is that your job?" She turned around, searched his face for that first twitch of muscle that would give away his joke face. She didn't see anything.

"Yes. That is my job. I am a financial analyst, specializing in corporate conflict resolution. That is my job."

The impact of that sank in, inch by inch. Every amused please he'd ever offered when asked about his job title echoed in her memory. "You never tell anybody about your job." He hadn't. Not once. Every time, he'd sidestepped it, by any means necessary. Until now.

His shoulders rolled in a shrug. "It would have come up anyway, if we're going to have a life together. We're going to be living in the same house. You're going to see paperwork where I have to put something down in the space for 'occupation.' You're going to have to know what I do for a living. Why not now?" He perched on one of the stools, as though they did this every morning.

She couldn't argue with him there, but she knew him. There had to be more to it than that. "Is that supposed to count as another Christmas present? Because all I have besides that snow globe are the bunny slippers I got for Katie."

"Because," a tinge of that boardroom voice of his still clung to his words. "I needed to lead with something personal that you'd need to know, and it had to be reasonably close in importance to what you told me. You already knew I was a virgin until I was twenty-three, so yeah, that was pretty much all I had." He scratched at the shadow on his jaw. "I am a financial analyst." His nose wrinkled "Wow, that sounds lame."

Robin twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Barney Stinson, financial analyst, specializing in corporate conflict resolution for Goliath National Bank, told her what he did for a living before he told anybody else in his social sphere. That did help. Dammit, that did count as a present. "Ted doesn't know? Marshall? Lily? Why didn't you ever just tell them?"

He had the coffee cup in his hands again now. He turned it so the handle faced inward and shook his head. "As long as what I do is shrouded in mystery, it gives me a certain," he paused there, rolled his neck, shifted his jaw. A muscle ticked in his cheek, a sure sign the right word hadn't landed yet on his tongue. "Aura," he said at last. "What do you think of when you hear the term, financial analyst?"

She let out a long breath. "I don't know. I didn't even know that was a thing."

"Exactly. Sounds boring. Want the real scoop?" His brows flashed up. He waited for her nod. "Most of the time, it is. I mean, yeah, the job security is great, and the money, well," he waved one hand to indicate their surroundings. "Numbers don't try to play anybody. Numbers are what they are, but sexy, they are not."

"Except when they're in bank accounts and stock portfolios." That earned her a flash of teeth, perfectly straight, perfectly white, a flash of the kid he'd once been, skinny, awkward, with a mouthful of metal. He'd be kind to his kids when they reached that stage, show them old pictures, assure them this was only a step on the journey. I turned out okay in the end, he'd say as he straightened his tie. I bagged your mom, right? Bagged, not banged, but he'd look over the kid's shoulder -that girl with her hair, or that boy with his- at her and do that eyebrow thing and she'd know what he meant. Look at the genes you got. No way you can lose. There wouldn't be, either, if things were different. If she were different.

"Helpful in certain situations," he nodded his agreement, "but I don't dare stay more than an hour at any family gatherings from January through April, because at least three relatives are going to ask for advice on their taxes." His brows flash up and his mouth tilts, a mix of weariness and amusement. "I don't even do my own taxes. I have a guy. The last thing I want to do when I get off work is look at more numbers. Why do you think I take all those crazy risks when I'm not working?"

Crazy risks like picking up his ex-girlfriend at the airport and bringing her home for Christmas. Running out into a blizzard to get condoms he didn't even need. Giving her the most perfect gift ever, even after she'd broken his heart. "Um, because you're insane and have the attention span of a fruit fly?"

"That, too. I have to make up for the mind-numbing boredom inherent in telling grown-ass adults with MBAs that the reason their companies are in the toilet and need bailing out by a mega-corporation like GNB is because they can't fucking count. Half the time, if they'd take the elebenty bajillion dollars, pounds, eruos, whatever, they blew on perks and vacation packages every year into fixing the actual problem, they wouldn't need me to fly halfway around the world and point out the blatantly obvious."

"Elebenty bajillion?" Robin let out a low whistle. "Technical jargon there."

He ducked his head, traced the outline of the mug on the counter. "Probably far more than you wanted to know, huh?" A beat of silence, then, "Does any of that change the way you feel about me?"

She didn't have to think about her answer. "No, of course not."

"Then why would anything you say change the way I feel about you?"

Robin's heart clenched. Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter, granite cool to her touch. "Because you could do like a million other jobs. If you come to Chicago-"

He rose from his stool before she could finish,his color so pale that the faintest of freckles showed beneath the overhead light. "If I come to Chicago? Do you not want me to come anymore? Robin," her name fell soft from his tongue, a plea, an apology, "if I said anything that made you think I'm not here for you, no matter what, tell me what I need to do to fix that, and I will do it."

Her nails tapped against the countertop. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"Do you want me to be mad? Should I yell? Break something? Would that help?"

Maybe. Robin lifted her hair off her neck and twisted it into a knot. "Kevin was calm," she said at last, her voice small. "At first, he said it didn't matter, that there were other ways to have kids. He could talk to some doctor friends, get things moving." She sucked in the deepest breath she could. "He went on about specialists and hormones and surrogates like he was figuring what to order for dinner. I," God, how could she say the next part? "I wasn't hungry. He was. He was so fucking calm when he told me he was sorry," she spat out the word; she didn't want even the memory of it anymore, "but he couldn't marry somebody who didn't want kids." Not even her, just somebody. "He just got up and he left."

"I'm going to kill him." Barney's eyes narrowed, his lips curled. "Who the hell does he think he is, doing that to you? That is not how a man talks to a woman he loves. Why didn't you come to me?"

She'd wanted to, more than she'd ever wanted to see anybody else in her life. She snatched a gray and white dish towel from the handle of the oven door, and wrapped it around her hand, once, twice, pulled hard on the tail until she felt the towel constrict. "Quinn, okay? You had Quinn. You were happy with Quinn. If I came over here to see you, I'd have seen her."

He blinked twice. His mouth formed words that died on his tongue. "That doesn't mean I didn't care. I would have been there for you."

That, the harsh voice in the back of her head told her, was why she hadn't told him. That stricken look, the way his shoulders went back, his chest expanded, as though he could break through whatever was bothering her with force of will alone. "Sure, Quinn would have loved that. 'Hey, I know we're getting married and all, but I'm going to go hang with my ex-girlfriend because her fiance dumped her and she can't have kids.' Yeah. That's the dream."

Barney's jaw thrust out. "We aren't talking about Quinn. Quinn doesn't matter. You matter." His eyes went wide, his mouth opened. "Robin, your hand."

She let the towel drop. The color faded, her fingers prickling with sensation as circulation returned. She shook it off. "Quinn did matter. You were engaged to her. You were happy. You were going to be okay."

"I wasn't okay. I was engaged," he stressed the word, "to Quinn. If that's not a cry for help, then I don't know what is."

Robin pressed her lips together. Damn him for making sense. Maybe if she hadn't pulled back, he could have — no. She wasn't going there. She tried another approach. "We weren't together. My diagnosis didn't have anything to do with you. There was no reason to let it affect you."

Barney's face reddened. "Bullshit." His face compressed, every line and crease deepened. "Anything that affects you affects me. Even if we weren't together, we were still friends." He set his mug down on the counter and took a step forward, hands sketching an imaginary headline in the air. "News flash: losing Quinn was not a great tragedy. It would have happened anyway. Yeah, I would have picked you over her if it came to that." He shoved both hands through his hair and scrubbed at his scalp as though that would bring the right thoughts to the fore. "I can't believe you went through something like that and didn't tell me."

She didn't let him finish. She couldn't, not when all the words, all the emotions she'd bottled up for nearly two years all demanded release at once. "If I really had been pregnant, it would have been your baby. You'd have had a right to be there. This is not your infertility." In-fer-til-i-ty. There. She'd said it. Said it to him. Said it for the first time outside a doctor's office, without any white coats in the room. The storm trooper didn't count. It still hit her like a punch to the gut. If he knew, then it really was a fact.

Barney's jaw thrust out. "Yes it is. It is my infertility." He planted both hands on lean hips. "Not five minutes ago, we were planning a life together, so if you can't have kids," He jabbed one finger in her direction, then jerked his thumb back at himself. "I can't have kids. End of discussion." One hand slashed the air as if to cut away any possible objections.

"Did you just say end of discussion?"

"Um, maybe?" He rubbed at the back of his neck and aimed some high quality puppy dog eyes at her. He was going to need more than that.

The fire in Robin's belly stoked. "No. You don't get to say end of discussion. I get to say end of discussion, and I am not done, so you are going to sit on that couch and you are going to listen." She pointed a finger at the couch, gray blanket still folded over the arm.

Barney dropped onto the cushions, the very picture of obedience. She should have had some satisfaction from that, but she didn't. All she had was the pressing need to get everything out.


	17. Chapter 17

"I did not want kids. I never wanted kids. I did not want kids so much that not only had I not ever planned on having kids, but I'd planned on having no kids, ever. I was aware of that. I was okay with that."

It hung heavy in the air, that was. She was okay with not having kids, but she wasn't now? Barney forced his mind to distance itself from the fact that this was Robin pacing in front of him, arms crossed and face compressed in a scowl. If it were anybody else, he could focus on the body language, the facial expressions, and be one step ahead of the other person, steer the conversation where he wanted it to go. Form his reaction before they were done making heir point, because he'd already know what it was. She didn't need him to react to this, not yet. She needed him to listen. Sit there and gather information and hold his tongue until she told him he could talk. Maybe if he'd - no, that wasn't going to help. Was. She was okay with not having kids. Was.

Robin paced from counter to couch twice before she spoke again. "I almost didn't say anything when I thought I was pregnant. I mean, what were the odds? That one time -one time- I cheated on anybody, and didn't use anything, and with you, that's the time the universe decides to give me a surprise package?"

He willed himself to show no reaction at her choice of words. Surprise package; he could go a few different ways with that. Making a sexual crack was too obvious. She'd spot that as his default before he'd even decided how to begin. Christmas came next. Presents, gifts, something about stuffing stockings. No, that went right back to sexual, and this wasn't the time for that. He gripped the edges of the seat cushions, contracted his fingers, released, contracted, released. If he could keep up the motion, maintain the rhythm, he could divert the nervous energy that lodged in the back of his brain before it pushed itself out in the form of words that had no place here. Contract, release, contract, release. A staple bit into the pad of his thumb. Contract, release, contract, release.

"Then I took the test and I saw the plus sign, and what the hell was up with that? I thought about," she stopped her pacing, her sight focused on the star atop the Christmas tree. "Just taking care of things on my own, if I had to. You'd never have to know. That wouldn't be on you. I couldn't put that on you. I couldn't."

No, she'd carry that by herself, and think she'd done the right thing, the noble thing, spared him something by taking on the entire burden. Anger churned in his gut. Anger at her for even thinking of shutting him out of something that important. Anger at himself for putting her in the position to assume that burden. The staple pushed deeper into his thumb. By instinct, he put the injured digit in his mouth. Copper tainted his tongue.

Robin turned from the tree. Her expression morphed in slow motion. Scowl lines softened. Color drained from her face. Her eyes rounded, mouth opened.

Only then did his mind make the connection between what his body was doing and the subject of discussion. Not discussion, though, because only Robin had permission to talk right now. He couldn't talk with something in his mouth. He could, but he shouldn't. That wouldn't be polite or considerate, and he wanted, needed to be both for her, for both of them. He wouldn't have this problem if he still smoked. He'd have things to play with if he still smoked; cigarette pack, lighter, ashtray. He'd have a cigarette in his mouth, not his own thumb. Thumb. Baby. Shit. He sucked. Literally. He pulled his thumb from his mouth. Squeezed it with thumb and forefinger of his other hand. Showed her the bead of bright red that welled there. He didn't have any words he could give her, so he didn't even try, only wiped his thumb on his pajama pants. A dark smudge showed against the charcoal gray.

For a moment, Robin stood there, unmoving, lips parted, lashes lowered. Her brows pinched together in concentration until a single breath stirred the hair that fell over her forehead. "I couldn't have a baby, I couldn't not-have a baby, and I didn't know what else that left me." She took one step toward the front door, stopped, turned. A step toward the kitchen, then another, back. Her gaze flicked to the kitchen stools, the chairs at the dining room table. Settled for half a second on the space on the couch beside him. Her arms crossed again, enough of a barrier to bring back her voice. "I thought about going away. Taking another job in Japan, maybe, or Australia. Maybe go back to Canada." She turned expectant eyes on him then.

This time, she wanted his reaction. Needed to touch the easy familiarity of his teasing before she hit him with whatever came next. That, he could do. "Canada? Really?" He flashed her a quarter smile, accompanied it with a huff of mock disdain.

"I thought, maybe I could have the baby, put it up for adoption. The baby would have a good life with a nice family. I could come back and have everything be the way it was before I ruined everything."

No. Barney swallowed the word. Nothing could ever be the way it was. They were different from that experience, the both of them. If there had been a baby, if the baby hadn't made it, if their baby had gone to somebody else, he would have known. He would have. He'd have seen it in her eyes, in the way she carried herself. He'd have heard it in her silences, felt it in the casual touch of friend to friend. It wouldn't matter that they weren't together. It wouldn't matter if either of them were with somebody else. He still would have known, still wanted to be there for her. "You could have told me." Any of that, he didn't add, because he'd already said too much.

Robin's jaw clenched. Muscles tensed in her neck. "I didn't want to let you down."

"How would you have let me down?" Aside from picking Kevin over him, but they weren't talking about that now. Kevin was the one who'd cheated, manipulated Robin out of making the choice she wanted, into making the one he wanted instead. That wasn't love. Love was this, holding his tongue, his heart pounding in his throat, feeling her pain as keenly as his own. Barney would take it all for Robin if he had that option.

She spread her hands, her shoulders raised in a helpless shrug. "By telling you I was pregnant before I was absolutely sure. By not being pregnant after you were so damned happy about the idea of us having a baby together. Dr. Sonya told us I wasn't pregnant and you were happy about that, too," she glared at him then, her expression fierce, brows pinched, face flushed. "Now I'm telling you I can't make any babies for you, ever, and that doesn't make any difference? Not only that I can't, but that I won't, even when you're assuming we're going to have kids -you said girls, plural- and that's okay, too? What do you want, Barney? What the hell do you want?"

In the space between heartbeats, he sprang from the couch and closed the distance between them. His hands plunged into her hair, his mouth descended on hers, because there weren't words for this. "You, okay? I want you. Robin Charles Scherbatsky, Junior, the one and only. Kids, no kids, New York, Chicago, Canada, Australia, Pluto, Atlantis, Narnia; I don't care. I'm happy when you're happy. When you're not happy, I'm not," he plucked the elastic from her hair and tucked it in her pajama pocket, next to the ring. His fingers brushed the curve of her breast underneath. His pulse quickened. "I'm not anything. Making you happy is the only thing in the world that matters to me."

"Now." Robin pulled back.

He stared at the few strands of hair that stuck between his fingers and mouthed an apology that had no sound.

"That's what's most important to you now, when there's twinkly lights and we're snowed in and there are awesome presents and the rest of the world can't get to us. What about when we have to get back to real life? I was on the upward track with WWN, and now I'm back to doing a cheesy morning show. When you come to visit me, I'm going to be working those weird hours you used to make fun of all the time, and you're not going to know anybody."

Three. He still held three strands of Robin's hair. He didn't mean to. He didn't pull; he was holding on. She was the one who pulled back. She was the one who picked Kev- no, he wasn't going there. Old business. Done. Over. Kevin was an ass. A sad, Robin-less ass who deserved to have his license yanked. Among other things. Damn, what was he supposed to do with three of Robin's hairs? Giving them back wouldn't make any sense, but he couldn't stand there, holding them, either. Dropping them seemed disrespectful. Pockets. If he had pockets, he could put them in one of his pockets. He didn't have pockets. Pajama pants didn't need pockets. Not until now. "I'll know you. I'll know Ted. Tracy seems cool." He lifted one brow and held it until he'd coaxed the ghost of a smile from Robin's lips. "We'll make it work. You could see it, couldn't you? That house in Chicago? You were right there in it with me, before I shot my mouth off about," he glanced down at the hairs he still held.

"Yeah. I could. All of it. Even this." Her hand closed around his, the hairs trapped between them. "Even the stuff that I know can't ever happen. I never wanted kids, but when you started talking about the suits and the dresses, I," her palm grew damp, "I wanted those."

Barney snaked his free arm about her waist and dragged her so close that took him a moment to regain his balance. "We have time," he whispered against the soft, loose hair that fell about her face. "The real world doesn't stand a chance against us."

As if on cue, Barney's phone vibrated in the charger.


	18. Chapter 18

_Not now_. Barney pressed his lips to Robin's hair. "Know what? I'm going to turn my phone off." Or drop it from the balcony. Whatever.

Robin exhaled, her breath warm on his skin. She pulled back from his embrace. "No, you should take this. Anybody who calls you on Christmas morning must really love you."

"I really love you."

A muscle twitched in the hollow of her throat, in that place where he could calm it with a touch, a kiss, but not now. That wasn't what she needed. "I need a few minutes, okay? That was all kind of, um, big, you know?" Color flared high on her cheeks. She dashed the back of her hand under her nose, then scowled at the slime that streaked her skin. "Ew, that's gross."

"Sure that's not ectoplasm?" The phone's vibration continued to buzz. "Better hit the shower." He nodded toward the charger. "If I finish early, maybe I can join you."

"Finishing early is not an incentive to let you into my shower. Go." Her un-slimed hand fluttered in a shooing motion toward the phone.

Go. He should do that. "Technically, it's my shower," This was the point where a good, understanding boyfriend would go take the call and let his girlfriend have the space she needed, not slide into suggestive banter, even if that was their comfort zone. All he wanted to do was rewind time so he wouldn't have caused her to need any space in the first place. Tiny suits. Tiny dresses. I wanted those. He should be with her. Hold her. Tell her he wanted them, too, but he wants her more. Tell her it was all going to be all right, even if he didn't know what all right meant. That was what a good boyfriend did, wasn't it? The vibrations grew louder, and would continue to do so, the longer he ignored them. He bounded to the stand by the front door and snatched the phone from its charger. "What?"

A quiet intake of breath preceded Tracy's tentative question. "Barney? Is this a bad time? We can call back later."

Tracy. We. That meant Ted. Barney shifted the phone to his other ear. "Tracy. Hey. Merry Christmas. No, it's good. How's Ted?"

"Ted is still feeling pretty good, if you know what I mean, but I'm going to have to hold the phone for him. They had to bandage his hands. He tried to bat the drone away. Not his smartest move on that one. He's not that great at holding stuff right now."

Two years ago, Barney could have joked that Ted never was good at holding things in the first place. Hell, the whole gang would join in on that one. They'd all take turns, Robin included, in listing all the things they'd seen Ted drop, all the catches he'd fumbled, reaches where he fell short, every item that had ever slipped from his hands, from freshman year of college, up until some incident within hours, if not minutes, of his accident. Barney didn't know if he was allowed to joke about that now. Could be a shortcut to just-like-old-times, or the exact opposite. "Sounds like Ted." There, that ought to be safe enough.

"Wouldn't have him any other way. Okay, Ted's still on medication, I'm holding the phone; I think those are all the disclaimers. Ready, Pooh Bear?" There was a moment of muffled static, then, "Handing him over now."

"Dude, I'm engaged!" Ted's voice boomed, too loud and slightly slurred. "I got beat up by a drone, in front of her whole family, and she still wants to marry me! Phone fi-whoa."

Plastic and metal clanged against wood. A cat hissed. A small dog yapped. Two sets of paws thundered. A pair of high heels clicked, followed by a muffled oof, a grunt and finally Tracy's sigh. "Barney? Still there?"

Barney rocked back on his heels. "Still here. Ted smack the phone out of your hand?"

"Yeah. Scared the crap out of Boots and Binky. That would be my mom's Siamese cat and Grandma McConnell's Shih Tzu. They're kind of high strung anyway. Phone bonked Boots right in the head, but he seems okay. Putting Ted back on now,if," Barney imagined Tracy using that pause to shoot Ted a warning glare, "he promises not to smack anything. Okay, he promises. Here you go."

"Dude, I'm engaged!"

Medicated Ted reminded Barney far too much of Drunk Ted. He missed that guy. A year and a half since they'd shared a booth at MacLaren's or sprawled on the couch with a couple of beers. Maybe if he could get a hit of whatever Ted was on, he could calm the restless twitch in his leg. Ted. He was finally talking to Ted. Too many stories, too many questions jostled for space on the tip of his tongue. Easy. There would be time for all of it. "Yeah, you mentioned that. Congratulations. Lot of that going around lately."

"No way! You and Robin? Miracle! Do you guys have a date yet? We have to be able to go to each other's weddings. Tracy and I were thinking June, but our second choice is September if you already picked June. We can be each other's best man. Well, co-best man, because Marshall. We're all going to be married at the same time. That's the dream."

The sounds of pounding water and Robin's humming, the same song from the night Barney had brought her home, drifted from the almost-closed bedroom door. She had the bathroom door open. She felt safe enough with him to do that, whether by omission or invitation. He had to live up to that trust. He summoned a dry laugh. "Right, I go a year and a half without seeing or talking to Robin, we both think the other one is married to somebody else, and we're engaged three days later. Even I don't move that fast." She had his ring, though, in her pocket, unless she'd taken it out when she got in the shower. Laid it on the sink, maybe in the silver dish where his cuff links went. Maybe it nestled between them even now. Maybe she tried it on, even if only for a moment. "Better have Tracy check the dosage on whatever that doctor gave you." He crossed to the tree and toed the crumpled newspaper beneath it. "I mean my mom and James's dad are engaged. Robin is going to be my date to their wedding, though. It's in February. We're, um," he rubbed at the taut muscles in the back of his neck. "We're talking."

Ted made a small murmur of approval. If they were in their booth, he'd rest his elbows on the table, lean in, his eyes bright. "Talking is good. Guess there's not that much else you guys can do with all that snow coming down. Thanks for taking care of Robin."

Thanks for taking care of Robin. Those were the last words he'd said to Ted, in that other airport, another lifetime ago, when Robin had Ted's ring on her finger and Quinn had his ring on hers. Barney pinched the red and white yarn of a God's eye ornament, his hand bathed in blinking, multicolored lights. Robin had claimed that one for Canada. He hadn't protested. "Honestly? I think she's the one taking care of me. If it weren't for Robin, I'd be spending Christmas by myself, in front of the giant screen."

"That, I find hard to believe. No hot delivery girls? No sexy neighbor dropping by to borrow a cup of eggnog?"

Barney let the God's eye settle back into its place among the branches. "Not this time. We put up a tree, had a snowball fight in the park, found some presents. She made me dinner." Then we fell asleep and I braided her hair and bought half the bodega and I know why they call it making love now. That part wasn't for public consumption, not even for Ted. Especially not for Ted.

"Robin made you dinner?"

"Kraft dinner. Classic comfort food, just like Mom used to make. Or James. Usually James, actually. He and Tom and the kids are with Mom at Sam's family's place. Sadie's discovered the phone; can't get her off once she's on. So, big crowd where you are?"

A sharp shriek of laughter, followed by the pounding of multiple sets of feet, answered that question. Multiple voices tumbled over each other, the words indistinct. "Two and four-legged. We're at Tracy's parents' house. All three of her brothers came, with wives and kids. Pets, too. Big dog family. Not that all the dogs are big, except for Muffin. He's Tracy's oldest brother's pit bull. Picture Marshall in dog form, only droolier but with better table manners."

That, Barney had no trouble imagining. "Have you told Marshall your big news yet?"

"I'm waiting for the time difference to catch up with us." Ted paused, then brightened. "We're good, right? You and me?"

"Yeah. We're good. No more changing the subject for Marshall and Lily when one of our names comes up. I think they're going to like that even more than the karaoke machine I gave them."

Ted coughed. "I already know I like that more than the karaoke machine you gave them. Dude, what were you thinking? You know how Marshall and Lily are with karaoke."

Barney rubbed the spot on the back of his head where Ted would have cuffed him if they'd been in the same room. "They have to knock it off at a reasonable hour now that they have Marvin. It comes with a curfew."

"Guess we'll get a chance to try that out before too long, with all the wedding stuff, huh?"

From down the hall, the shower stopped, but Robin's humming continued. Barney turned from the tree, his neck craned for the first sight of her. He smoothed the front of his shirt. "Yeah, looks like. Be good to get everybody in one place again. Sounds like Robin's about done with the shower, if you wanted to talk to her."

This time, Tracy answered. "Have to take a raincheck on that one. Nonna and Nonno get dibs on interrogating Ted as soon they can break away from the little kids downstairs. Sounds like they're about ready. Call you back later?"

A loud squeal of protest shot through the background noise at the same time the oven timer dinged. "Call anytime. Either of you. Bye." He ended the call and sprinted to the kitchen. The scents of bacon, turkey and melted cheese reminded him how long it had been since their last meal, even if it were for a good cause. He slid on oven mitts and extracted the baking sheet. The bread had browned, cheese bubbled over the sides. He stole a crumble of bacon, hot and crisp to his touch, then plated their meal. Still no Robin. "Robin?" No response. "You okay in there?"


	19. Chapter 19

Robin perched on the edge of Barney's bathtub, cell phone in one hand and ring in the other. Damp hair trailed down her back, an Egyptian cotton towel the only thing between her and the eucalyptus-scented air. She checked the email alert that blinked across the bottom of her screen for what had to be the dozenth time. It hadn't changed. No. Life could not do this to her. Christmas could not do this to her.

Two cautious raps sounded on the open door. "Robin? Are you okay?" Barney's head poked through the opening, one hand over his eyes, like he hadn't already seen, touched and tasted, everything she had to offer.

"Nope. Pretty sure I'm dying, actually."

Barney's hand dropped from his eyes. His shoulders squared. "I'm coming in." Resolve fortified his voice. His gaze swept over her, uncomprehending, mouth compressed, brow creased. "Are you sick? Hurt? Should I get a doctor? Tampons? If you found any tampons, they're Quinn's, and you shouldn't use them."

"It's your apartment." She waved him in. Too late, she realized she'd used the hand that still held the ring. Crap.

"I'd like to think of it as our apartment. House in Chicago, apartment in New York. No need to bother with hotels, either way." He took one step over the threshold, then stopped. His mouth rounded for the briefest of seconds, then clamped shut. He'd seen the ring.

"Get in here." She scooted over to make room for him.

He filled the empty space in a matter of seconds, his thigh, warm and solid, pressed against hers. She needed that. Not only the support of his body next to hers, anchoring her so the room wouldn't spin any more, but the sure knowledge he was on her side, no matter what she might say to him next. Barney Stinson, solid in more ways than the obvious? Christmas miracle if ever there was one.

" If it's tampons, I can go to the bodega. What kind do you need?" The soft cotton of his t-shirt brushed against the bare skin of her arm.

"The kind in my suitcase, and I don't need them. I didn't get my period. I got this." She angled the phone so he could see the five yellow suns that marched across the dark blue of the weather report screen. Her email notification blinked beneath the graphic, waiting for her answer.

Barney scrubbed one hand over his mouth and chin. "Oh."

She set the phone down on the bathmat before she could give in to the urge to take his picture, pajama clad, unshaven, hair rumpled, defenses down. If she could wake up to that every morning, she wouldn't ask for anything more. She'd be home, wherever they were. "I turned my phone on, so I could text Lily, and the weather alert popped up." She didn't need to see the report to repeat it. "Snow should be tapering off in the next few hours. Clear skies by evening." She took in a breath, then continued. "The email notification is from the airline. There's a direct flight to Vancouver leaving at eight tomorrow morning."

Barney's head dipped in a single nod. "So we'd need to be out of here before six. Do you want me to get Ranjit, or should we take a cab?" His jaw shifted. "Or I could drive you."

"You hate driving."

"I like spending time with you."

She bumped her leg against his. "Same."

His brows flashed upward, hopeful. "So, we should take the car, then?"

Robin dropped her gaze, to the ring pinched between thumb and forefinger. What did it matter how she got to the airport? These last few days felt right. Barney, sleeping on the couch, braiding her hair in his sleep, buying all the Christmas trees, the ancient ornaments, store bought and handmade, the music box he'd planned to give her after she broke up with Kevin. Planned it before, because how the hell could he have had it made on the spur of the moment? He'd put thought into that. Time. Effort. Consideration. He knew what she wanted, and he made it happen. He made Christmas happen. Things like this never happened on Victoria Day. Definitely not Remembrance Day. Not Canada Day either. Easter, Halloween, and two different Thanksgivings didn't even come close. This was a Christmas exclusive.

The ring, in the secret compartment of the jewelry box, the way he looked at her when she opened it. Opened them, the box and the compartment, both; she'd never forget that, because he wouldn't let her. That all made the decision that much harder. This wasn't the sort of thing someone should have to answer all on their own. She'd like to call a friend, please. Crap. It was still too early for that. Lily and Marshall wouldn't be up yet, and when they were, they'd be all focused on Marvin and the dozen mini-Ericksens Marshall's brothers and sisters in law had produced. All those tiny suits. All those tiny dresses. Her throat constricted.

She could text Lily, sure, but good luck getting an answer in time. Barney would sit there, on the edge of that tub, until she said something. Tracy would be busy with drugged-up Ted and their new engagement -because of course that had to happen now- and the rest of her family. Newly engaged Ted was something, Robin would give him that, and she'd only experienced the un-medicated version. She really should have made more friends. Maybe Patrice? No doubt, Patrice would be there within minutes of being asked, bearing cookies and matching Christmas sweaters. Santa hats for everybody, too, maybe reindeer antler headbands. Robin reached for the phone, then drew back her hand.

"I don't know. Three days ago, the only thing I wanted, in the whole world, was to spend Christmas at home."

Barney stroked the damp hair that fell over her shoulder. "We'll get you there. It's still Christmas week."

Christmas week isn't Christmas. Robin's own words echoed. "I think I already did spend Christmas at home." May as well go all in. "I spent it with you."She adjusted the drape of her towel. "I'm not so sure I want to go to Vancouver anymore. Five hours on a plane, then four days of sitting around my mom's house, yeah, that's the dream."

"What about your mom? She'll want to see you. Katie's home, right? Possibly with a boyfriend who needs checking out, and no, he cannot have my snow globe. I will make the supreme sacrifice of one of my emergency ties, still in the box, but you have to put my name on the card." He waited for her nod before he continued. "Then are all your Canadian friends, and your cousins. Jessica's new baby." He rubbed her hair between his fingers. "They're all still there. They're your family."

So are you. Robin turned the ring to catch the light. They could have had this, could have been them, all this time. She had to make things right. "We've been getting into some pretty big stuff here. Chicago, houses, dates six months in advance." Tiny suits. Tiny dresses.

Barney brightened and released his hold on Robin's hair. "Which reminds me, Ted and Tracy did pick June for their wedding, but September is their second choice in case you and I," he gestured between the two of them, "already called dibs on June." He held up a hand, to stave off her objection. "Don't worry, I cleared up that particular misunderstanding. Ted knows it's my mom and Sam who are engaged. But that is where things are going with us, right?"

Robin's skin prickled. This was it. Time to define the relationship. Not something a guy should ask of a girl wearing only a towel, under any circumstances, much less on a major holiday. The ring grew heavy in her hand. Not a bad heavy. Good heavy. Substantial. Real. Permanent. A house in Chicago, an apartment in New York, both shared with a man who'd run out into a blizzard to ensure she'd be safe, who gave her his heart in a box with a sparkly ballerina that twirled to a song that had once meant the world to her. "It is, but-" She tucked a lock of damp hair behind her ear.

"This is the only time you are ever going to hear me say I don't like your but." No humor lightened his mood.

She moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. "Three engagements is a lot for one holiday, even if that holiday is Christmas." Even if everything good and right and true could be possible, even if second chances were free for the taking, no questions asked.

Barney's features slackened. Clasped hands dropped between his knees. "Three is a lot." A heavy silence settled on Robin's bare shoulders. His head dipped, his attention focused on his own bare feet, pale against the charcoal gray of the bathmat. "My mom had some bad boyfriends when James and I were growing up. Real jerks. There was this one guy-" he broke off with a shake of his head. "Sam's not like that. I don't want anything to take the focus off her day."

Robin cupped her hand around his knee, muscle firm beneath gray flannel. "You're going to be a great man of honor."

He glanced up at her touch, then covered her hand with his. "I want to be. My mom has to have the best wedding ever. She has to have a fancy dress -a white one- and a big cake and everything." He tapped two fingers against her wrist. "You're a girl. How do you plan a wedding? Like a good one, really fast?"

"Damned if I know."

Barney heaved a sigh. He adjusted his position on the edge of the tub and fixed her with a long-suffering stare. "You've been engaged two and a half times," he nodded at the ring she still held. "You've planned weddings. Parts of weddings? Read one of those big bride magazines that's thicker than the phone book?"

One edge of her towel drooped. Even sideboob didn't erase the intensity of his stare, like he could extract the information from her by force of will. She wished she could give him some. "I'm still listed as a contributor to the Ted and Robin's Wedding Pinterest board. The only pin I added was a bouquet of pacific dogwood, so it's pretty classy. You could crib off that."

Barney's hand slid from hers. He held up one finger. "Two questions. One, isn't Ted going to use all that stuff for his own wedding?"

"I have one word for you: groomzilla. Trust me, when I say that Ted and Tracy's wedding board is going to be a whole different animal from Ted and Robin's wedding board. Which is also different from Ted and Stella's wedding scrapbook. He'll never know. What's the second question?"

A second finger joined the first. "Pacific dogwood?"

"Official flower of British Columbia. Swap those out for roses, -official flower of New York, so that's convenient- and you're all set. Ted will be so busy planning his and Tracy's wedding that he'll never even think about the plans he'd had for ours." His plans; they'd always been his plans, and he would forget them, because he had Tracy now. "Worst case scenario, he recognizes something, but doesn't remember from where, and congratulates you for having great taste."

"That's because I do," he said, and bumped her knee with his. "So we've got my mom's wedding, which we have to start planning, like, tomorrow, and then, once that's over, Ted's wedding stuff will be in full swing. Groomzilla, huh?"

Robin tugged the edge of her towel back into place and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. She wasn't about to ask if that was an inclusive or exclusive we. She'd find out soon enough. "Please. We're talking about Ted here. You'll find out." He would, and he wouldn't mind, wouldn't listen to Ted's dictates, but plow right ahead with whatever caught his fancy at the time. Somehow, it would all work out, and he'd tell her the story about how it did, in a moment like this, just the two of them, towel and pajamas optional. "We're going to have to figure out what to tell everybody, aren't we? About us? About how we…" She tilted the ring in Barney's direction. The band slid over her fingertip. She nudged it back. Too soon.

"What do you want to tell them?"

What did she? "I don't know. They'd all make a big deal out of everything. Lily would get all emotional and hug us too tight or some crap like that. Marshall would be all, how do we know we're doing the right thing? We spent almost two years without talking to each other, and then we get engaged in two days?"

"Two and a quarter. Half, after noon. It's not like we're getting married tomorrow." His eyes brightened. "Unless you want to get married tomorrow. I know a judge who owes me a favor. We could get the waiting period waived, do an end run around the whole thing." His thumb brushed over the back of her wrist, earnest blue eyes fixed on hers.

He meant it. No doubt in her mind, he meant it. Fear tingled in her gut. Married. They could be married tomorrow. She could be married to Barney tomorrow. He could be married to her, because that's how it worked. "That would for sure give me the best 'what I did on my Christmas vacation' story at the station. Eh, who am I kidding? I already win."

"That wasn't a yes." His features blanked for only a second. "Give me the ring?"

Robin blinked. Her fist closed around diamond and gold. "I thought you weren't taking it back?"

"I'm not. Where do you keep your jewelry?" He was up and on the move before she could answer. Long strides took him to the sink, and the silver dish next to the soap. He picked the gold chain coiled there from the dish and fingered the charm that dangled from it. "Can I take this off?" He waited for her nod, then dropped the charm back into the dish. In a second, he was back at her side. "Ring?"

Her gaze flicked from the ring in her hand, to the chain in his. Her heart skittered. She lay the ring in his outstretched palm and watched as he threaded the chain through the ring. "What are you doing?"

"I call this play, The Long Engagement. We get engaged to each other, right here, right now, but we don't tell anybody until after Ted's wedding."

A slow warmth spread through her blood. "Are you suggesting we lie to our family and friends?"

The ring slid along its chain -its chain now, not just a chain- as Barney checked the clasp. "I'm suggesting we give them the opportunity to watch us fall in love. We ran into each other by accident, reconnected, you asked me to come visit you in Chicago, and the windy city works its magic."

"I come to see you in New York, we rack up the frequent flier miles until it makes more sense for us both to be in the same place." Her skin tingled with anticipation, both of Barney's touch, and the play that stretched out before them. "Maybe we have a big fight over who moves where, you know, just to make it look real."

Barney smoothed the chain against the flannel of his pant leg, straightened each link, rubbed the ring itself between his fingers, warming it for her. "Nice touch. I like it. I pack my bags and head back to New York, then turn right around and get on the next flight to Chicago, because home is where you are. We have make up sex, call a realtor, and then this bad boy moves from your neck to your finger. You in?"

Robin lifted her hair and presented her back to him. "I'm in. " The chain settled about her neck the exact moment the towel slipped from her body. There would be other flights.


	20. chapter 20

Two hours after she'd rolled out of Barney's bed, Robin shut off her phone and laid it on the coffee table, the screen dark. Okay. That was that. Decision made. Deed doneShe pushed away from the couch and tugged the hem of her plain white tank down over the waistband of the boxers she'd pilfered from Barney's drawer. From her fiance's drawer. Barney was her fiance now. She fingered the ring that hung from the chain around her neck. Or special young man, according to her mother. She bit back a curse. 

The cardboard angel dangling from the tree glowered at her. Stupid angel, hanging there, all glittery, with its pipe cleaner halo and tin foil wings. It didn't care that it started life inside a roll of toilet paper, just hung there, twinkling beneath the lights, judging her from the one sequin eye left in its styrofoam head. She turned the angel around, so it faced the tree instead of her. It didn't help. Fine, she'd tell Barney. Right now. That's what engaged people did, right? Told each other the truth? Most engaged people, she corrected herself. Other engaged people. Normal engaged people. Between the two of them, their track record with the whole being engaged thing was -she moved the angel closer to the trunk- complicated. 

Beneath the tree, the music box and snow globe rested in their nests of wrapping paper scraps, the evidence of their first engaged Christmas, even if they did stumble into it ass-backwards, and by accident. That kind of fit. Maybe this would fit, too, in some weird, laugh about it later sort of way. Robn flipped her braid over her shoulder and made her way down the hall, in the direction of the awake-Barney sounds that drifted from the bathroom, heated hardwood floor warm beneath bare feet. 

She paused in the doorway and allowed herself a moment to appreciate the view. That was her fiance there, standing at the bathroom sink, gray towel riding low on his hips. Muscles flexed in arm and back as he angled his head and drew a silver-handled razor along the line of his jaw. She'd made the right choice. Hadn't she? She cleared her throat to catch his attention. "Hey, Fiance." 

He lowered the razor and rinsed it under the tap. His head, hair still damp at the tips, turned left, then right, before his reflection broke into a wide, slow grin. "Hey, Fiancee." Two hours into the engagement, and using the titles instead of names wasn't old or cheesy yet. Putting a ring on her finger -well, on her neck, for the time being- hadn't turned them into Marshall and Lily, or even Ted and Tracy, though a few mind altering substances were not entirely out of the question. Especially now. 

Robin rolled the chain between her fingers. She'd already made a habit of reaching for the ring when nerves gripped her and panic rose. It helped, weirdly enough, that knowledge that she wasn't alone in this, wouldn't ever be again, but it was still a tell, one that would beg questions in the real world The real world sucked. She swiped one knuckle over her own upper lip, to indicate the dab of foam that remained on his. 

Barney mimicked her motion, checked his reflection, then fit the razor back in its stand and turned to face her. "How'd it go?" Both brows flashed upward in anticipation. His chest expanded as he braced both hands on the counter behind him, mouth tilted at quarter slant already, as though he knew what he was going to hear. What she wished she could tell him. 

She clenched her fingers into her palm rather than reach for the ring. This winter was going to require a lot of scarves and turtlenecks. The chain wasn't that long, and moving the ring to a longer chain felt wrong. He put it on this one. That's where it belonged. She grabbed the gray silk robe from the hook on the back of the door. "Might want to put this on before we get any farther. Kind of distracting me with the view, there." Not that she was complaining. Hell, no. Nothing to complain about there, but this wasn't the time for that. 

 

He caught the robe and shook it out, grin at full flash. "Keep talking like that, and there is not going to be a whole lot of conversation, if you know what I mean."

 

Screw habits. She worried the ring between thumb and forefinger. "That's, um, kind of, um," She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She could lie. Lead him back into the bedroom for further consummation. They were awesome at consummation, always had been, but even they couldn't keep that up for an entire week. Crap. She ignored the small, Barney-like voice in the back of her head that whispered, 'challenge accepted,' because she was not accepting that particular challenge. Not even a little bit. "I kind of maybe possibly blew the whole secret part of the secret engagement."

"How?" His face blanked, lower lip pinched by the slightest degree. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and tied the sash around his waist. 

Robin poked the tip of her finger through the ring, traced the circle around three times before she found the voice to answer. Even worse habit, right there, but it worked fine when it was just the two of them. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I started to tell my mom about the flight, but -" There should be teleprompters for things like this. Hell, Barney probably had something to project select pertinent phrases on the wall behind whatever bimbo he was trying to usher out of his apartment at that particular moment. 

With one smooth move, he unwrapped the towel from his hips beneath the robe. "But what? Change your mind?" He didn't specify about what, only crossed to the wicker hamper, lifted the lid and dropped the towel inside it. He didn't turn back right away. "About us?" he asked, at last, voice heavy, his gaze riveted on the vintage cologne ad mounted over the hamper. One hand rubbed at the back of his neck, the space between hairline and collar. 

Her hands fisted, nails bit into her palms. "No. God, no. I love you." He turned at that, his sight aimed somewhere over her left shoulder. She knew the trick, how to fake-look at the other person but not actually make eye contact; he'd taught her that. "I want to marry you. I am going to marry the hell out of you, and it is going to be freaking awesome. Just...my mom..." okay, that was real eye contact now, direct, steady and expectant. "She started asking questions and I got flustered and she had eggnog and I didn't have eggnog." She should have had eggnog. They had it. He had it. Right there in the refrigerator. She could have had eggnog. Maybe she still should.

 

Barney tightened the sash on his robe. "Isn't it like nine in the morning there? Little early for eggnog."

"Nine-seventeen in Vancouver when the call ended, and you don't know my mother." She parked herself on the edge of the tub. "I told her I was thinking about staying in New York, instead of taking the later flight, and she asked what hotel, so I said no hotel, that I was staying with someone. Then she asked who, and I said a friend, and she asked what friend. I didn't say right away, and she asked if it was a man, and I said yes. Then she asked if it was a special young man," she stressed the word the way her mother had, weighting that special, drawing it out to three full syllables, spec-i-al, "and I -" she dug her toes into the nap of the bathmat. "I said it was. Sorry." 

Barney's bare toes appeared at the edge of the bathmat. The hem of his robe dipped into view as he took his seat. "Hey, truth in advertising, baby. Do you even know of anybody special-er than yours truly? Don't say Ted," he added, those last words crammed into each other in a rush.

Robin shook her head, sending her braid back over her shoulder. "I am marrying a dork."

 

"So it's back on with Kevin? I'm going to need that ring back, in that case." He extended his hand, palm out, though his mouth twitched at the corners, smile lines sharp creases on either side. 

Her fist closed around the ring. "Nothing doing. Special young man is my mom's term for..." She heaved a long breath. "It means it's serious, and I told her yeah. I told her we were serious."

"We're getting married. That's serious."

"Yeah, but secret married. Secret engaged, I mean." She pushed at the bathmat with her feet, dragged it back flush against the tub, pushed it again. 

He planted one foot on the edge of the mat. Held it firm. Didn't say anything, but then again, he didn't have to. She knew what he needed. 

She rubbed the stone with the pad of her thumb. "I like having this just between us, right now. We...we didn't plan this. It just happened. I'm glad it happened, but I want it to be happening to just us for a while. Once we start meeting parents and all that crap, everybody else barges in, and they have questions and opinions. My dad doesn't like anybody. My mom doesn't do airplanes, so you'd have to come to her, and -" 

Barney cut her off. Indignant fire sparked in his eyes. "Excuse me, I am awesome at meeting parents. Shannon's parents adored me. Her mother knitted me three scarves and a Christmas stocking, and her dad took me to two Yankees games, and I don't mean me and Shannon. She didn't go. Just him and me, and he bought me beer. Quinn's parents thought I was delightful, and not only because I picked up the dinner check when it was supposed to be their treat. Her mom said I was charming, and her dad said I had a good head on my shoulders. Nora's parents-" he broke off there. She glanced in Barney's direction in time to catch the sheepish drop of his lashes -if he could wish her hair for their daughters, she'd want them to have his lashes- and the twitch of his mouth. "Nora's parents loved me, um, until I broke up with her and bailed while they were making tea, but Nora and I weren't engaged, so you can't count that." He paused at that, scratched behind one ear with his free hand. "There is no possible worse parent-meeting than when the guy dumps your kid in the middle of it, is there?"

Robin shook her head. "Pretty sure there isn't. Were you going to propose to Nora?" Even now, the back of Robin's neck prickled with dread at the possibility. She clutched the ring even tighter. "I mean if we hadn't, if you and I didn't, if we never," she finished the question with a tilt of her head toward the bedroom. 

His answer came without hesitation. "I don't know, but I'm glad I didn't. You are, by far, my favorite, and final, fiancee." He covered her hand with his, stroked her wrist with his thumb. "Besides, you have nothing to worry about on the parent front. You've already met my parents, and my brother, and my brother-in-law. You still have Cheryl and Carly and JJ to go, but they'll be cool. We can test the waters in Westchester, if you want. Staten Island, too, because Sadie is going to implode if she doesn't see me for New Year's. You have yet to experience the full glory that is a complete Sadie meltdown. Do not ask me to describe one of those; they have to be experienced. Insider tip, though: invest in high quality earplugs, and keep a pocket full of root beer barrels at all times, but don't give her any when Tom can see what you're doing. He's kind of the sugar police."

 

Robin released her grasp on the ring and worked her hand into Barney's. "I am marrying into an entire family of dorks."

"And one special young man." His slanted grin flashed for the barest second before his expression sobered. "One of two things is going to happen with your mom. Either she was so sloshed on eggnog that she isn't going to remember your conversation, or she will remember it and talk about it. Maybe the gossip stops at the Canadian border, and maybe it doesn't, but if word gets out, I've got your back. If you need to produce a special young man, then we are going to Vancouver, no question. We may not be the most conventional couple, but we didn't do anything wrong. If anything, we finally got it right. What better Christmas present could any mother want for her child?"

Robin couldn't think of any. Well, maybe one. She slipped her hand from his and wound it in the sash of his robe. "I have to show you something in the bedroom."

 

Barney's eyes darkened. "I like the sound of that, but I might need some Gatorade first."

 

She tugged on the sash, took short, slow steps back toward the bedroom. "Not that." Not at first, at any rate. "I made another phone call while you were in the shower." 

 

"Your dad?" His steps halted, eyes open wide. 

Another tug on the sash earned her one hesitant step forward. "Nope. A contact at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Guess what four words I'm thinking of right now, and I will make one of your wildest dreams come true." She purred the offer, her voice husky and low.

The squeak-squeal that echoed off the tiled walls was everything she'd hoped it would be. "Are those four words, 'Robin Sparkles Christmas Special?" 

In answer, she led him into the bedroom and retrieved the remote from the nightstand. "You are about to be the first non-CBC employee to see this footage, so get comfortable." 

He clambered into the bed and fluffed the pillows against the headboard, then flipped back a corner of the blanket and cocked one brow .

She climbed in beside him keyed in the code and pressed play. She didn't watch the screen as sparkling letters made out of snowflakes swirled into view, only settled into her fiance's embrace, the silk of his robe cool against her skin. The only show she wanted to see was right here, right now, the unfettered delight that animated his features, as reindeer pulled a sleigh to a stop in front of a log cabin. She'd made it home for Christmas after all.


End file.
